


To the Last Breath

by The Neon Gang (clgfanfic)



Series: Magnificent Seven (TV) - Breathe Series [1]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: ATF Denver AU, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 12:04:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/The%20Neon%20Gang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lab accident leads to Vin's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To the Last Breath

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Let's Ride #11.
> 
> A recycle of a clg War of the Worlds fic.

**Federal** **Building**

**Monday, May 17, 2004; 0915 Hours**

          Larabee looked up from the file he had been skimming as he leaned against Tanner's desk.  He frowned.  Orin Travis was headed across the office toward them, and if the serious expression on the older man's face was any indication, the news he was bringing them wasn't good.  In fact, Larabee would be willing to bet, some kind of shit had just hit the fan…

          "Sir?" he greeted as the Assistant Director came to a stop, Travis' gaze sweeping over the agents, all of whom were seated at their desks, except for Larabee.

          "We need to talk, gentlemen.  Now."

          Chris pushed off Tanner's desk and nodded at the conference room.  Without comment, the men rose and filed into the room.  Travis was the last one in and he closed the door behind them.

He waited until the seven agents had taken their seats, then huffed out a sigh and asked, "Has anyone been monitoring the news this morning?"

          It appeared no one had.

          Travis scowled and looked down at the carpet, wishing he didn't have to break the news.  "As you may or may not know, there is a government research facility here in Denver, well, on the edge of Purgatory, to be exact."

          "What kind of research facility?" JD asked.  He'd never heard about any government group operating in the run down neighborhood most people avoided if at all possible, and by the surprised look on Vin's face, he hadn't heard about it either.

          "A laboratory," Travis supplied.

          "Doin' what?" Tanner wanted to know.  After all, he lived there, despite all their efforts to get him to move someplace safer.

          Travis' lips pressed into a thin line for a moment, then he huffed out a sigh and said, "Apparently they're doing research on bio-terrorism and counter-terrorism."  The resulting disgusted look on Tanner's face summed up his feeling on the subject quite nicely, the older man thought.

"It gets worse, I'm afraid," Travis continued.  "A whistleblower sent the _Post_ a confidential internal memo.  Evidently four mice being used in some of the experiments are… unaccounted for."

          "What exactly does that mean?" Wilmington wanted to know, his tone defensive.

          "It means they can't find the damn things," Travis snapped back.

          That reaction apprehended the attention of all seven men.  Orin Travis wasn't a man who rattled easily, but this had clearly upset the man.

          "The newspaper broke the story earlier today, and the television networks are all over it," Travis explained.  "According to the _Post_ reporter, a routine security check the day before yesterday turned up the missing mice.  Apparently they've been trying to find the damn things ever since."

          "The Ides of March, how appropriate," Standish offered half under his breath.

          "What does all this have to do with us?" Josiah asked the AD.

          Travis scowled again and huffed out a sigh.  "Shortly after the paper came out this morning the facility began receiving bomb threats," he told them.  "About two hours ago, at seven a.m., someone tossed a pipe bomb over the wall surrounding the facility.  It didn't go off, but it could have.  And one of the groups who e-mailed the facility is the same eco-terrorist organization that burned the ski lifts near Aspen and ransacked the university labs last year."

          "What will our role be?" Larabee asked his boss, frowning slightly.

          "To protect the facility until this situation is over, and to investigate who this morning's bomber was.  Forensics is looking at the pipe bomb as we speak.  They already know to copy you on the report as soon as they're done.  The IT techs are already trying to trace back the e-mail threats, see who might really be dangerous and who's just venting."

          Ezra leaned forward.  "Might I inquire as to what kind of experiments the missing mice were being used for?"

          Travis snorted.  "You can, Agent Standish, but as of yet Homeland Security has not seen fit to share that information with us."

          "Wonderful," Buck grumbled, shaking his head.

          "Did they happen to tell you if those mice are carrying something that can be transmitted to humans?" Nathan asked the AD.

          Travis shook his head.  "That's apparently 'need to know' as well, Agent Jackson."

          "And if they _are_ carrying something that can—?" JD began.

          "Then we'd better hope their people find those damn rodents as quickly as possible," Travis interrupted him.  "For now, let's just concentrate on making sure no one blows up the facility before they find the damn things…"  He took a deep breath and added, "The NIH is sending a team to help the laboratory people find the mice and do whatever it is that needs to be done.  We just need to ensure that they're all safe while they do so.  God only knows what could be set loose on the city if someone actually succeeds in destroying the building."  The older man sighed heavily and rubbed the back of his neck.  "Be careful, gentlemen."

          The others nodded, but it was clear that no one was feeling particularly good about this assignment.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Monday, 1130 Hours**

          The members of Team Seven were hard at work.  Nathan was accompanying a Forensics team, and a team from the laboratory, to test the area around the facility, ensuring there had been no breach of containment.

Buck was working with the explosives experts, trying to narrow down the bomber, while JD was peering over the techs' shoulders as they worked on tracking down the sources of the threatening e-mails.

Ezra had headed out to tap his wide network of contacts and see if he could find out what Creation's Liberation Coalition was currently up to.  The most violent of the extremist environmental groups, the CLC had been known to employ deadly tactics in the past, and this was just the kind of situation that would grab their attention.

          Chris was in a conference room inside the covert facility that had been set up to serve as their command center, coordinating the information his men were getting and working on a plan to protect the facility and the people who worked there.

          Vin and Josiah were outside, keeping an eye on the building.  Tanner was on the roof of another, taller building across the street from the secret research laboratory, while Josiah was working with the company who provided security for the facility to plug a few gaps the team had found.

          As Vin peered through his scope at the rear of the nondescript facility, he couldn't help but marvel at how it looked like any number of older, run down buildings that littered the mostly Hispanic community he lived in.  God only knew what kind of witch's brew they might be working on inside…  And the very thought made him mad.  Why didn't the people in the community know this was happening in their backyards?

          But he already knew the answer – because the people in this community were considered expendable.  They never would have put a facility like this in Boulder, or Denver, or even in Capital Hill.  But Purgatory?  Sure, why not.

          It wasn't right.

          His gaze continued to wander over the three sides of the building he could see, as well the buildings closest to the facility.  One, an Ace Hardware store, was displaying a large hand-written note in the front window:  Mouse-traps Sold Out.

          He grinned at that.  At least the locals had kept their sense of humor so far.

          His cell phone rang and Vin fished it out of his pocket.  "Yeah," he said.

          "I heard from Travis," Chris' voice announced into his ear.  "They think the mice were being used in some kind of weaponized plague-shit tests."

          "Wonderful," Vin said on a sigh.  "What does that mean?"

          "Watch yourself," Larabee replied.  "No cheese sandwiches for lunch."

          "Fuck you, Larabee," the man replied, shaking his head as he shoved the cell phone back into his pocket.  But he was grinning.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Monday, 1700 Hours**

          That evening Vin sat in a small neighborhood restaurant, devouring his dinner at the worn Formica counter.  The café, Tolson's, was a favorite among the locals, especially when Mrs. Tolson fixed roast beef for the special.

          Bob "Pop" Tolson worked the long counter while "Mom" did all the cooking, and a local teenager took care of the ten booths that were squeezed into the small dining area.  Those booths were presently almost full and Vin shared the counter with two truckers he'd seen in there before, and a Black man he was sure must be a first-timer, the four of them enjoying their meals and hot coffee in companionable silence.

          Pop gave the ceiling a cranky scowl when a metal-rending noise drowned out the local country music station that was playing his favorite song on the radio.  "Damned exhaust fan," he grouched, filling one of the trucker's half-empty coffee cup.  "Gonna have to replace the whole damn ventilation system one of these days."

          "You finally gettin' that fan fixed, Pop?" one of the truckers asked, flashing a grin at his partner.  Pop's reputation as a fix-it man was confirmed by a series of photos and newspaper articles decorating the walls at haphazard intervals – mostly awards and citations of recognition for helpful inventions.

          "I am," the old man countered, waving his hand in the air above his head.  "That's what all the damn noise is about.  Couple of guys have been up there the better part of the day, hammering on the blasted thing and not gettin' any further than I did myself.  You'd think they'd finally give up or fix it!  With all I'm paying 'em, they'd better get it done."  He refilled Vin's coffee cup.  "Probably would've gotten it done hours ago, but one of 'em keeps comin' down to help himself to Mother's biscuits; can't get any work done doin' that."

          The truckers chuckled and the ATF agent smiled.  Then, with a loud, echoing series of clangs the fan started up and a cool breeze began circulating through the café.

          "Well, it's about time," the old man grumbled, wiping his hands on a damp towel and heading outside to talk to the repairmen, muttering as he went, "Probably gonna cost me a couple day's profit, too."

          A few minutes later the old man returned.  Vin had finished his dinner and was working on a slice of Mrs. Tolson's homemade peach cobbler, one of the last she had left.  He knew she'd kept it safe for him, though.  He hardly ever missed a Monday night, thanks to her cobbler.

          The truckers had left, the counter empty now except for Tanner and the Black man.  Pop walked over and, checking to make sure he was out of the other man's earshot, asked Vin quietly, "You hear about them mice that escaped that lab?"

          Tanner nodded.

          "You know about that lab being here in Purgatory?"

          "Not a damn thing," Vin replied quietly.

          "Hell, Vin, you know how it is around here.  Mice get into everything…  You can't keep 'em out, especially in the winter, but even this time of year they're a pain in the ass."

          "I wouldn't worry too much," Tanner told him.  "They would've had to report it if those mice were carrying something that could endanger the public," he told the older man, hoping he was right, but he had his own doubts.

          Pop shook his head.  "It ain't right," he said.  "Just ain't right, but there ain't a damn thing we can do about it, is there."

          "Just make sure you and Mrs. T put out some extra traps," Tanner told him.

          "Already done," the old man told him, shaking his head.  "Hell, they even found a couple of 'em living up in the fan…  One of these days we're gonna just retire and leave this business to somebody younger."

          Vin grinned.  It was a familiar complaint, one the old man had been making for over ten years.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Monday, 1923 Hours**

          Vin coughed, slowing his usual run to a moderate jog.  Something was wrong.  His chest had started to burn, he was soaked with sweat, and his vision was threatening to blur just enough to make staying on the park path an act of divine intervention.  The slower pace eased his symptoms, though, and he completed his run, ending up back in the parking lot of his apartment building.

          Bending over, he braced his hands above his knees and drew in several deep breaths, trying to chase away the vague waves of nausea that made his stomach feel heavy and his throat thick.

          Seated on the steps, ten-year-old Jesse Chavez watched Vin with growing concern.  He glanced down at the stopwatch he was holding, expecting to find that Vin had shaved another ten seconds off his regular time, but instead he found the man was almost a full minute slower than he had been yesterday. 

          "Vin?  Something wrong?"

          The ATF agent sucked in one more deep breath and blew it out, straightening and arching back to stretch his spine, which had begun to ache just slightly.  "Naw, just catchin' your cold, I think."

          "My cold?" the boy questioned, looking decidedly guilty.  "I'm sorry, Vin.  Really."

          "It's okay, Jesse, it's not your fault."  Vin coughed, then massaged his chest through the material of his gray sweatshirt.  "Maybe it's the flu," he corrected, not really wanting the child to think he was responsible, although he probably was.  Vin had taken Jesse and his sister, Maria, to the clinic when their temperatures had spiked Friday night and their mother had woken him up, pounding on his door in a panic.

          "Maybe you should have Dr. Agudelo at the clinic look at you," Jesse suggested.  "She's real nice.  She gave me and Maria candy after."

          "Might just do that, little man," Vin said, taking back his stopwatch and frowning at the results.  "But first thing I'm gonna do is get a hot shower."  He looked down at the boy, adding, "And I think it's time you headed inside to get that homework finished, don't you?"

          "Ah, Vin, I _hate_ homework."

          "Yeah, well, it's just part of the price y' pay for bein' a kid, kid," he replied, ruffling the boy's hair.

          Jesse sighed dramatically, but he stood and followed Vin inside the building, climbing the stairs behind him to the second floor.  "See ya tomorrow, Vin!" he called.

          "Okay.  Buonas noches, Jesse."

          "Si, buonas noches, Vin!" the boy called, disappearing.

          Tanner grinned, then continued on up to the fourth floor, more than a little annoyed that he was almost winded by the time he got to his door.

          He fished his key out of the key pocket in his sweats and slid it into the lock as another cough rattled in his chest, making it ache.  And his muscles were starting to ache as well.

          "Oh yeah," he muttered as he stepped inside, "definitely catching something…"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Tuesday, 0710 Hours**

          The following morning, Vin sat at a table in Perkins, along with the rest of his team, the other men all devouring their breakfasts.  The sniper looked down at his omelet and sighed softly.  He had absolutely no appetite, but he knew he needed to eat.  He couldn't afford to get lightheaded while up on the roof, watching the lab.

          He noticed Nathan was checking him out, and with good reason, too.  He was usually the first one done, and he'd hardly gotten started.

          "Vin, you feeling all right?" the former medic asked.

          "Yeah, just not real hungry," he replied, then tried to stifle a cough, but he was largely unsuccessful.

          "Ooh, that sounds nasty," Buck commented, giving the man a wary look.  The handsome man hated getting sick – it cut into his quality time with the ladies.

          "Thanks," Vin replied dryly, reaching for his coffee and hoping the hot liquid would kill the tickle that had set in at the back of his throat.

          "Sounds like you picked up a nasty cold," JD commented.  "The lunch girl, uh…"

          "Kimberly," Buck supplied immediately, nodding.

          "Yeah, her.  She had a really bad cold last week," JD continued.  "I'll bet you caught it from her when you rode the elevator down with her last Tuesday."

          Chris' eyes rounded slightly.  "You actually remember stuff like that?" he asked JD.

          Buck rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically.  "Stud, you wouldn't _believe_ some of the things this kid remembers."

          "What?" JD asked, his eyebrows climbing.  "I'm just… observant."

          "And Miss Kimberly Hartley is someone worthy of observation," Josiah added dryly, digging into his bowl of fruit and spearing several pieces with his fork.

          That won a chuckle from Buck.  "You've got that right," he agreed.  "But she's taken some kind of vow – plans to stay a virgin until she gets married."

          "Nothing wrong with that," Nathan told him, scraping the last of his oatmeal from his bowl.

          "It's a waste of potential, if you ask me," was the ladies' man's reply.

          Vin grinned, enjoying the banter.  And JD was probably right.  He remembered how sick the young woman had sounded when he'd exchanged small talk with her on their ride down to the lobby.  Between that and Jesse and Maria his immune system had probably been overwhelmed and succumbed.

          Yep, he'd caught a cold – damn it all.  Another cough tore through his chest and he couldn't quite stifle the groan it elicited.  That brought Nathan's attention back to focus on him.

          "Damn, Vin, you'd better let me check you out when we get to the lab."

          "Ah hell, Nate, I'm fine," he replied, forcing a piece of the omelet into his mouth.  "Just a cold," he added after he swallowed.

          Larabee's gaze shifted to the sniper, the man's green eyes narrowing slightly.  "Tanner, you look like shit."

          Vin's eyes narrowed as well, and he scowled back at the man, but it had no more effect on the blond than Larabee's glare had on him.

          Chris looked over at Nathan.  "Check him over as soon as we get there."

          The former medic nodded, the decision made, with or without Vin's approval or agreement.

          Tanner rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help feeling a little warmed by the men's concern.  It was damn nice to have a family again, even if they were a bunch of over-protective, mother-henning, annoying brothers for the most part.

          He reached for his coffee, concentrating on that rather than his food while the rest of them finished their meals.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Tuesday, 0827 Hours**

          Later, as Vin was checking his gear, Nathan came over carrying his "kit."  Knowing he wouldn't be able to get out of it, Vin sighed and submitted to the man's examination.

          Nathan proceeded to do a quick appraisal of the sniper:  blood pressure was low, but not abnormally so for a man in Tanner's physical condition; his pulse was a little quick and thready, though; skin slightly pale and clammy; good amount of loose chest congestion, but nothing dangerous; and a fever of almost 101.

          "Well?" Vin asked when the man was finished.

          "You've probably got a bug of some kind."

          "I already knew that, Nate," he replied.  "What is it?  Cold or flu?"

          "I don't know.  The NIH team that's here could probably tell you quick enough, but I'd recommend you make sure you're getting plenty of liquids, take some aspirin or Tylenol for the fever, and pick up an over-the-counter expectorant to help with that congestion."

          Vin nodded.  He had plenty of sport drinks with him, and some Tylenol.  Maybe be could run down to the Walgreens on Parker at lunchtime and pick up the cough stuff, and some of the nose-friendly tissues.

          "I'm going to go check in, and see how the NIH is doing.  You gonna be okay up there today?"

          Vin nodded and flashed the man a grin.  "Yeah, no problem.  Weather's nice enough, and I have a six-pack of Powerade in m' bag to take up with me, some trail mix, too."

          Jackson nodded.  "Well, you start feeling any worse, you give me a call, okay?"

          "Yeah," Vin replied, although he had no intention of doing any such thing.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Tuesday, 1742 Hours**

          That evening Vin lay stretched out on his sofa, watching the local news and thinking back over the day.  It had been boring – really, _really_ boring, and completely uneventful.  The locals had already begun to return to their regular routines, much of the news coverage having moved on to other stories.  The NIH still continued to search for the missing mice, not that he or anyone else expected them to find the damn things.

          He coughed and reached up to rub at his chest.  At least he wasn't feeling any worse than he had this morning.  Of course he wasn't feeling any better, either, but he knew better than to dwell on how he was feeling.  Better to think about something else and hope that it all went away – as quickly as possible.

          Chris and Ezra had tracked down a few of the angry e-mail writers, but so far everyone they had talked to was all bluster, and no bomber.

          The analysis of the pipe-bomb hadn't turned up anything useful.  And, God knew, these days anyone who wanted to know how to make one could just look it up on the Internet.  He doubted that was going to get them anywhere, unless whoever was responsible tried again, in which case they would nail his sorry ass and go home.  But they rarely got that lucky.

          So it looked like he was going to be stuck babysitting the building for at least a couple more days.  He sighed, knowing it could have been worse.  At least this way he got to stay in one place for the majority of the day.  And Nathan and Chris were both making sure he had plenty to drink and eat, as well as a variety of medicines to take, although none of them seemed to be helping him all that much.

          The aloe-infused tissues had been a godsend, though, not to mention the licorice Larabee had somehow snuck into his bag of supplies.  That cut through the annoying itch and masked it for a little while each time he ate one of the little black lumps.

          He grinned.  Chris always took good care of him.

          For a brief moment he wished he was out at the man's ranch, right now.  But he didn't want Chris to catch his cold, or whatever the hell it was he was suffering with.  Still, he didn't much like being alone when he was hurt or sick.

          Not that he'd ever admit it to any of the others, but it sometimes made him downright teary when Chris insisted he come out and stay at the ranch until he was on his feet again, even if it meant the man caught his bug as a result.

          And whenever that did happen, Vin always made damn sure he returned the favor, staying with Larabee until he was feeling better, too.  They watched each others' backs and that meant a hell of a lot to the sniper, who had spent a large portion of his life feeling alone.

          "Hell, 'm turnin' into a damn crybaby," he grumbled at himself as he reached up and rubbed the pooling moisture from his eyes.  But he honestly did feel blessed to have friends like Chris and Josiah and Nathan and Ezra and Buck and JD…

          Lying there on the roof today, sweeping the building through the scope on his rifle, he'd noticed that one of the NIH guys looked like he'd caught a cold, too.  It was the same man he'd seen in Tolson's, although he hadn't known at the time he was one of the people the NIH had sent.  Poor guy.  He'd heard from Josiah at lunch that the man had spent his morning crawling though air ducts, looking for the elusive rodents.  That would have just sucked if he'd been feeling anything like the sniper had been at the same time.

          Vin coughed again, this time the wet, tearing sound making him wince as it sent shards of pain lancing through his chest.  Damn.  If he got any worse, he'd have to call in and get Chris to put him on sick leave, something he didn't want to do.  It just didn't feel right to him for the team to be out there without him…

          He sighed, knowing he ought to get up and go fix himself something for supper – soup, maybe; it was hot and light – but he just didn't have the energy.  Another cough tore through his chest, making him moan.

          Damn but he hated being alone when he was feeling like this…

          A knock at his door startled him, but before Vin could sit up, Chris had used his key to open the lock.  He stepped inside carrying a takeout bag from Tolson's.

          "Hey," the blond greeted, a worried frown on his face.  "That sounded terrible."

          "Didn't feel too good either," Vin acknowledged, peering at the takeout bag.  "Y' pick something up for me?"

          "Nope, I was hungry," Chris replied, deadpan, but then he grinned at him.  "Yeah, I thought you might like some of Mother's chicken soup."

          "Great minds think alike," Vin wheezed, maneuvering into a seated position and watching as Chris went to the kitchen to get the soup ready.  He felt his eyes filling again and cursed softly, wondering what in the world was wrong with him.  He was turning into some kind of weepy Wilma.

          "You say something?" Larabee called.

          "No, nothin'," Vin replied, reaching for a tissue so he could blow his nose and then covertly wipe his eyes.

          By the time he'd tossed the tissue into the small trashcan he'd moved to the end of the coffee table, Chris was back with a bowl of homemade chicken soup and a sleeve of crackers.

          "Here you go," the man said, setting both on the coffee table and then heading back to the kitchen, saying, "You get started on that and I'll make us some coffee."

          "Okay," Vin agreed, reaching for the spoon in the bowl and taking a sip of the tasty broth.  "Mmm," he sighed, his eyes closing.  He took a bite of the thick noodles, along with a piece of carrot and asked, "Pop's fan still fixed?"

          "Yeah, I think so," Chris called from the kitchen.  "But he and Mother seem to be coming down with something, too."

          "Oh, man, I hope I didn't get them sick," Vin said, looking guilty.

          "You eat in there recently?" Chris asked, coming out to sit in the one recliner in the living room.

          "Last night," Vin said, then took another bite of the hearty soup.  He loved Mrs. Tolson's homemade chicken soup, but his stomach was telling him it really wasn't hungry.

          "Can't catch a cold from somebody that quick," Chris assured him.

          "I was in there a couple of times last week, too – after I'd been exposed to Kimberly."

          Larabee offered him a shrug.  "Well, maybe…  You feeling any better?"

          "Yeah, I guess so," Vin replied, forcing down another spoonful, but then he stopped as it threatened to come right back up again.

          "Vin?" Chris asked, seeing the look of panic that passed through the younger man's eyes.

          "Guess I'm just not hungry," Vin replied.  "Sorry."

          " _You_ … not eating some of Mother's chicken soup?"

          "Hell, I'm sproutin' feathers here, Larabee," Vin complained, setting the almost full bowl back on the coffee table and slumping back against the sofa cushion.

          Chris stood and walked over to the couch, sitting down next to Tanner and reaching out to press his hand to the sniper's forehead.  "Jesus, Vin, you're burning up."

          A coughing spasm contorted the sniper's face and he gripped his sides.  "You're tellin' me?" he ground out.  "Hell, t' be honest, it's been gettin' worse all day.  Can't eat, fever's hangin' on, and I hurt all over, too."

          Larabee frowned.  "Sound like this might be a flu bug, not a cold."

          Vin nodded.  "Be just my luck.  I just hope everyone else doesn't come down with it, too."

          "I'll warn Travis," Larabee said, his frown deepening as he noted the sudden pallor of Vin's face.  "I think you better stay home tomorrow.  I don't want you around the others until I can get everyone a flu shot, or a cache of antibiotics, Kleenex and cough-drops."

          "Thanks," Vin rasped.  "Your concern's overwhelmin'."

          Larabee grinned.  "Yeah, well, your crud seems to be worse than anybody else's I've seen.  Maybe we ought to call the doctor, get you in to see him tomorrow."

          Vin only hesitated long enough to suffer through another series of coughs before he nodded.  "Fine.  Hand me m' cell 'n' I'll give Chandler a call."

          The easy capitulation had Chris feeling glad that he'd suggested a trip to the doctor's office, because if Vin was giving in this easily, he needed to see the man, and as soon as possible.  "You call the doc, I'll go see if the coffee's ready.  You think you can keep that down, or do you want some tea instead?"

          Tanner shook his head.  "Rather have the coffee," he said as he surfed down his phone list until he found Chandler's number and let the phone dial for him.  A moment later he was speaking to the physician's answering service.  After a couple of coughs, he was told to arrive at eight; the doctor would see him first thing in the morning.

          "Thanks, I really appreciate it," he told the woman.

          _"No problem,"_ she replied.  _"You sound terrible.  If you need to, you can go to the emergency clinic at Summit any time, and Dr. Chandler will be paged."_

          "Naw, I should be okay until tomorrow mornin'."

          _"Okay,"_ the woman said, _"but if that cough gets any worse, I think you might want to come in."_

          "All right," Vin said, hoping it wouldn't come to that.

          Chris returned and handed him a coffee mug that was almost full.  "See if I put enough sugar in that."

          Vin tried a sip and nodded.  "Thanks."

          "So, when do you see him?"

          "Tomorrow, at eight," Vin replied.

          Larabee sat, sipping on his coffee as the news continued to play on Tanner's television.  "You know, I think it might be better if you came out to the ranch with me tonight.  I can drop you off at the clinic on my way into work tomorrow."

          Normally Vin would have argued, not wanting to be a bother, but he really was feeling lousy and he didn't want to face a long night alone and miserable.  He nodded, saying, "T' be honest, I was kind 'a hopin' you'd say that."

          A ribbon of fear stirred in Larabee's gut when he heard that.  It wasn't natural – no arguments, no moaning about everybody trying to mother-hen him, no "I'm fine, damn it," no nothing except the revelation that he'd _wanted_ to go with him to the ranch.  Tanner was definitely sicker than he was letting on.

          "Okay," Chris said at last.  "You finish that coffee and we'll get going."

          Vin nodded, hoping he could make it through the night without needing to be taken to the ER.  But, quite simply, he felt like shit.  He was hot, his chest hurt, his head hurt, his muscles hurt, and his stomach was warning him to set the coffee down – _now_ – or accept the consequences.

          He set the cup down, saying, "Probably better if I wait t' have some out at your place."

          "Oh… okay," Larabee replied.  He set his own cup down and helped Vin to his feet.

          They made it halfway to the door before the sniper's hand flew to his mouth and he turned abruptly, hurrying for the bathroom.  He just made it, too.

          Chris stood in the doorway, listening as Tanner's stomach rejected the soup and the coffee.  A moment later, Vin raised one hand and waved him out of the room.

          Chris pulled the door closed behind him and leaned back against the wall in the hallway, waiting until the sounds of Vin being sick finally stopped.  But the door didn't open, so he resigned himself to waiting.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**A short time later**

          "Vin?" Chris called, listening, but not hearing anyone moving around in the bathroom.  He was holding a cup of the herbal tea Nathan had given each of them to help settle their upset stomachs.  "Vin?"

          "Don't want any," was the muffled reply.

          Still, the sniper's voice sounded like he was right behind the closed door, and Larabee jumped, spilling several drops of the hot liquid onto his pant-leg.

          "And don't blame me if y' got wet.  Don't think I c'n keep it down.  Y' better get out 'a here, too… can't afford for everyone t' get sick just because I am."

          "Vin, I want to make sure you're okay," Chris argued, glowering hotly at the closed door; the skin on his leg still burned.

          "Feels like I got the flu.  I _look_ like I got the flu.  And I'd really like t' just throw-up alone… in peace."

          Larabee pursed his lips, but he shook his head and relented.  "All right, you win… this time.  But I'm just going as far as the living room.  If you need me, call me."  He set the cup of tea down on the floor outside the bathroom, in case Vin changed his mind, and headed for the sofa in the living room.

          Tanner waited until he was sure Chris had left, then opened the door and cornered the cup.  Scooting back so he was leaning against the wall of the small bathroom, he took a sip, hoping the tea might quell the tempest raging in his gut.  But, after two more sips, he was bent over the toilet again, heaving it all back up.

          He wasn't sure how much time had passed, and it took a moment for him to register the fact that someone was knocking on the bathroom door.  He reached up and flushed the toilet, then dragged himself to his feet and shuffled to the door.

          "What d' ya want now, Larabee?"

          "It's me, Vin," Nathan's voice replied.  "Look, I've got Dr. Connor out here.  He's from the NIH.  We need a sample from you."

          Vin opened the door.  "Sorry, I was… indisposed," he apologized, noting the doctor was wearing a mask over his nose and mouth.  Piercing blue-gray eyes studied him like he was some exotic specimen.

          "Just a precaution," Connor explained, reaching up to touch his mask, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the agent's pale features, accentuated by the bright fever streaks that cut across his cheekbones.  "Is your fever climbing?"

          Tanner's eyebrows arched slightly.  "I'm not sure.  I was… otherwise occupied."

          Connor nodded at the covered toilet and Vin moved back to sit down.  The doctor then ran through the same checks Nathan had performed on him that morning.  Finally, he produced a small plastic petri dish about the size of a half-dollar.  "I need a sample."

          Vin accepted the container, his forehead rippling in concern.  "Of what?"

          Connor grinned at the nearly scandalized tone of the agent's comment.  "Sputum, Agent Tanner."  When Vin's expression remained blank, he pointed to the small container.  "Cough, and spit in there."

          Vin made a face.

          "You heard the man, cough," Nathan said, punctuating the command with the jabbing point of his finger aimed at Tanner.

          Vin complied.

          "Very good," Connor said, taking the sample and placing the lid over it.  "The analysis should be done in an hour or so.  With luck, you're looking at the flu.  Your symptoms match.  In the meantime, drink lots of liquids, rest, and stay warm.  And stay here, too."

          "Thanks, Doc," Vin said somewhat sarcastically.  His gaze shifted to Larabee, who was leaning against the doorjamb as he added, "That mean I need a fulltime babysitter?"

          Connor frowned behind his mask and his gaze cut to Larabee.  "Yeah, that might not be a bad idea.  Can you stay here with him until I call you with the results?"

          "Yeah, sure," Chris replied.

          "Gee, thanks, Doc," Vin grumbled as Connor packed up to leave, Nathan already waiting for him out in the hallway.  "You're a real friend."

          "Go rest.  I'll call as soon as I know something," Connor said, turning to leave.

          "I'll see you out," Chris said, asking Vin, "You be okay?"

          Tanner nodded.  "Gonna go to bed."

          Chris escorted Nathan and Connor to the door, then, after checking to see if Vin had done like he said, asked, "I called Nathan to come check on Vin, how'd you—?"

          "I'd called to ask if anyone on your team was sick," the doctor said, pulling his mask off.  "Agent Jackson told me about Agent Tanner and I told him I'd like to come along, see for myself what we were dealing with."

          "Why?" Chris asked, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

          Connor sighed softly, then met Larabee's gaze, saying, "Because one of my team is sick, too… as well as three of the lab technicians and at least four people from the local community."

          It took a moment for the truth to register, but when it did, Larabee swallowed hard and said, "It's out there, isn't it."

          It wasn't a question and Connor nodded.  "It appears so."

          "How?"

          "Two of the mice are still unaccounted for…  Evidently one or both managed to get out of the building."

          "Are they—?"

          "I don't have any answers for you at the moment, Agent Larabee."

          "The others who are sick, they have whatever it was the mice were carrying?"

          Connor nodded.  "And I'm reasonably sure Agent Tanner does as well, but I won't know for sure until I test this sample.  In the meantime, the two of you are officially quarantined in this apartment."

          Chris' expression hardened.  "Doctor, I have—"

          "Nothing to worry about except for your man in there – at least for the time being.  Now, I need to get back.  If this is what I think it is, I'll call and have you bring him back to the lab."

          Larabee nodded and let the men go.  As he closed the front door he felt a cold knot of fear begin to tighten in his gut.  He walked to Vin's phone and called Josiah.

          _"Sanchez,"_ the man said when he picked up.

          "Josiah, talk to me."

          _"It's not good, Chris,"_ he said.  _"Frank Powell, one of the NIH investigators is sick, and seven locals, too.  The NIH was able to determine that it's definitely related to the plague strain the mice had been injected with, but it's changed somehow."_

          "Who else is sick?" he asked.

          _"An older couple who own a restaurant not far from the lab, a UPS delivery woman – we're checking to see if she made a stop at the lab after the mice turned up missing – and two air conditioning repair guys from a shop in Purgatory.  Oh, and two students from the technical school down here."_

          "And Vin…"

          _"Maybe, but…"_

          "Yeah…" Chris said on a breath.  Tanner had it, too.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Tuesday, 2110 Hours**

          Vin lay on a narrow gurney, staring up at the ceiling in the small exam room in the laboratory.  The tiles in the ceiling were all white, two of them water stained, the patterns reminding him of a pair of manatee.  He sighed, wishing someone would hurry up and tell him something.

          Running his hand over his face, he sighed again, a little louder, which captured the attention of the other man sitting in the room.

          Josiah pushed himself out of his chair and walked over to Vin.  "You need something, brother?"

          Vin rolled his head to the side and met the man's eyes.  "Just gettin' bored," he admitted.  "How long can this take?"

          The big man chuckled softly.  "You know, for a sniper you have an amazingly low tolerance for waiting."

          Vin scowled at the man, but he knew it was true.  "Just different, I guess.  I hate just layin' here with nothin' t' do… waitin'."

          Josiah nodded.  "You could try sleeping."

          "Tried that," Vin said, a slight grin on his lips, "didn't work."

          Josiah grinned back.  At least Vin looked a little better than he had when Chris had brought him into the lab a while ago, after the NIH was reasonably sure Tanner had also been exposed to the plague-carrying mice.  Some of the paleness might have left Vin's face, but he was obviously not feeling his usual self.  "You want me to go see if I can find you a magazine or something?"

          "No, thanks, Josiah," Vin said, knowing he didn't feel well enough for that.  "Why don't y' tell me what's going on with the mice and all."

          "Well, according to the lab guys, the NIH found two of the little beasts in the building this morning sometime," Josiah explained.  "But they didn't say where.  The, uh, remains of a third were found in the alley between here and the hardware store this afternoon.  Evidently that one, or maybe the last one, got out of the building and spread the whatever-it-is to a few people."

          "Including me," Vin added.

          "Yeah, probably you, too."

          "Are they… okay?"

          "They're sick, like you, but okay as far as I know."

          "So they still haven't found the last one of the mice?"

          "I don't think so."

          "And the two they found here in the building?"

          Josiah didn't want to, but he said, "They were dead.  Succumbed to whatever they had been exposed to."

          "Any headway on the bomber?" Vin asked, deciding he didn't really want to think too much about what finding the mice dead might mean for him and the others who were sick.

          Sanchez shook his head.  "Not really, we—"  He shopped short when the door was pushed open and Dr. Connor and Chris came in.  He could tell by the look on Larabee's face that something was wrong.  "We have a problem?" he asked.

          "Definitely a problem," Connor replied for Chris.  He looked at Vin and quickly averted his gaze, looking at Josiah instead as he said, "Agent Tanner has definitely been exposed to an engineered virus," he said.

          "Great," Vin muttered, reaching for a face mask that was sitting on a rolling tray near his gurney.  "Tell me again what this bug is?"

          "To be honest, Agent Tanner, we're not sure exactly what it is we're dealing with just yet," Connor said, his tone apologetic and a little annoyed.  He ventured a look at Tanner's concerned blue eyes, then tapped the back of a closed medical file against his open palm.  "But we do know what it's not."

          "And that would be?" Josiah prompted.

          "It's not a natural bacterial or viral strain of plague.  It resembles two of the engineered strains that they have been working on here, but it's not identical to either one of them."

          "How is that possible?" Josiah asked, confused.

          "That's what we're currently trying to determine," Connor told him.  "We're sending samples to our labs in DC, and to the CDC in Atlanta, for further analysis.  And the researchers here are trying to determine if this is one of their newest strains, or if it's one that's mutated somehow."  He looked back to Vin, adding, "We don't think the strain is actively contagious any longer, so you don't have to wear that mask."

          "Then he's going to be okay?" Chris asked the doctor.

          "To be honest, we can't say yet," Connor replied, folding his arms over his chest and looking at the three men.  His gaze came to rest on Vin.  "I'm sorry, Agent Tanner, but you've inadvertently become part of an experiment.  We're just going to have to wait and see what happens.  I want to keep you here so we can treat this thing as it develops – _if_ it develops."

          "That's it?" Larabee asked.

          "It's all we can do at this point.  But I do need to determine where Agent Tanner became infected."  Connor looked back at Vin.  "The cases we have so far have one commonality.  Mr. Tanner, did you happen to eat at Tolson's Café yesterday evening?"

          Vin nodded.  "Yeah, I did."

          Connor nodded.  "Then it seems the café is the source of the contagion," the doctor said.  "My man ate there as well.  And both Mr. and Mrs. Tolson are also sick, as well as the two men who were working on their air conditioning unit, their waitress from Monday night, a UPS delivery woman, two students, and a family of four who also ate there."

          "Are they all sick like me?" Vin asked him.

          "Yes, although some are worse, and the symptoms aren't identical in all of the cases," Connor said, but he did know that they were _all_ getting sicker by the hour and, so far, he and his team hadn't been able to come up with a single thing that looked like it might help.

          "What happens now?" Vin asked him.

          "Now we get you moved into a more comfortable bed," Dr. Connor said.  "We'll get you started on an IV so you don't get dehydrated, too.  And you try to get some rest."

          "Easier said than done, Doc," Tanner replied.

          The man nodded, the expression in his eyes sympathetic.  But then he had a man who was sick, too.  Vin's gaze slipped past the doctor to meet Larabee's eyes.

          "Is there anything we can do?" Chris asked Connor.

          "Just make sure nobody blows up the building before we get this figured out," the man replied.

          "Count on it," Larabee told him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Wednesday, 0804 Hours**

          "Mr. Larabee, agents, please, take a seat," a doctor said, motioning to the large conference table nearly filling the meeting room at the lab.  Walking around to an overhead projector positioned at one end of the oval table, she turned on the motor and the light, waiting for the agents to get settled before she continued.

          Chris studied the woman as he waited for his men, Connor, and another younger man he hadn't met before to take their seats.  Dr. Natalie Durant was petite, with long, dark-blonde hair and caring eyes.  She was also efficient and somewhat clipped in her speech.

          Opening a file folder, Durant pulled out a plastic sheet and laid it on the glass plate, casting the image onto the screen behind her.  "This is the primary organism we're dealing with," she began.  "I've never seen anything like it before, and neither has anyone at the NIH or the CDC.  Our initial analysis was correct; it's a genetically constructed organism."

          "What kind of organism?" Chris asked, knowing he wasn't up to a long-winded presentation that was full of medical or scientific jargon.

          "That's the interesting part," she replied.  "It appears to be a tri-hybrid, exhibiting properties of three other engineered organisms.  However, we have managed to nail down some of the details.  It's a virus, on the outside, anyway.  But the genetic makeup on the inside looks more like _yersinia pestis_.  However, there's enough viral RNA present as well to make me nervous."

          "But I thought you said earlier that the preliminary tests you ran pointed to an engineered staphylococcus," Nathan said, suddenly confused.

          "I know," Durant replied, pulling the overhead off and replacing it with another.  "Our work supports that as well.  That's what tipped us off to this being a recombined organism."  She switched the plates.  "This is the results of one electrophoresis we ran."

          "It matches what we'd expect to see for a staff organism," Dr. Connor confirmed.

          Durant pulled that overhead off and slid on a third.  "But this is the same sample fifteen hours later."

          "But that's impossible, right?" Nathan asked, shaking his head and wondering if he was remembering his classes correctly.

          Larabee gave Jackson an appraising look.  "Why?  I don't understand."

          "Because that's what we expect to see if it was a gram-negative rod bacteria," Dr. Connor explained.

          "Exactly."  Durant put another overhead on.  "And this indicates the presence of a retrovirus…"  Another overhead.  "… and this one _yersinia pestis_ , but _all_ of these results came from the _same_ sample."  Dr. Durant leaned forward, resting her palms on the smooth, blond wood tabletop.  "The only difference is time."

          "If the genetic structure's an unstable recombination, that might explain the results," the young man sitting next to Dr. Connor said.

          "Gentlemen," Connor said, realizing that the agents hadn't met the man before now, "this is Dr. Miles McCabe, another member of my team."

          "This thing is completely unpredictable," Miles added.  "Every sample we've run – from each of the patients we have – progresses at a different rate of recombination, and every sample is uniquely sensitive to changes in the external environmental chemistry.  There's only one common feature."

          "I don't think I want to hear this," Nathan said, frowning and shaking his head.

          "What?" Chris prompted.

          "None of the samples are susceptible to standard antibiotic regimes of treatment," Dr. McCabe concluded.

          Jackson slumped back in his chair.  "That's just great."

          "What does this all _mean?_ " Chris asked, trying not to sound angry, but he could remember what Vin had looked like when he'd seen him less than an hour ago, Tanner's face damp with sweat, the man wheezing slightly with each breath.  "Where do we go from here?"

          "It means that we don't have an effective method of treatment at this time," Dr. Durant explained.

          "How many people are going to get sick?" JD asked, looking at the doctors.

          "We don't know.  There's still one mouse unaccounted for," Dr. Durant said.

          "Although it's probably dead by now," Connor added.

          "We've found fourteen active cases, so far," Connor told them.

          "Seventeen," Dr. McCabe corrected him, adding, "and of that group, we've already seen a mortality rate of a third."

          "People have already died?" Buck asked, looking more than a little worried.

          McCabe nodded.

          "Pneumonia is the official cause of death that's being listed on the death certificates," Dr. Durant said, "but the autopsies are turning up organisms that are related to these."  She tapped the overhead.

          "Will more people get sick?" Nathan asked.

          "We don't think so," Connor replied.  "All of the cases so far were exposed in Tolson's Café Monday evening."

          "So what do we do?" Chris demanded again.

          "As I see it, there are two possible approaches," Durant said, turning off the overhead light and taking a seat at the table.  "We can try to find something that will target the external biology of the organism – something we might be able to use as an inhibitor, or a vaccine – or we look for specific drugs to attack each of the variants we find."

          "Which approach do you think would be best overall?" Larabee asked, wishing he understood more of what the scientists were saying.

          "Targeting the external molecular structure," McCabe said.  "That would give us the best chance at finding a way to inoculate people against this, or treat it.  And the external structure is the only constant we've seen across the samples."

          Durant nodded.  It was what she had concluded, too, but she felt compelled to toss out as many possibilities as she could.  "If this spreads, or the mutations continue at the same rate we've been seeing, God only knows what we could be dealing with several weeks down the road.  We have to stop this thing, now, before it has a chance to mutate to the extent that we see an external structural shift, or it starts to spread human to human, which is something we haven't seen so far."

          Connor gave a curt nod.  "Then that's the way we'll proceed."

          "Wait," Nathan interrupted.  "I agree that you have to develop this line of research, immediately, but what about those who are already infected, don't you have to take it case by case, too?  I mean, it sounds like it's the organism, _not_ the individual infected, that's critical in determining mortality."

          "Translation?" Larabee requested curtly.

          "It doesn't matter what kind of shape the victim's in," Connor supplied.  "If the organism mutates in a particularly deleterious direction, they'll die."

          Durant nodded.  "Of the seventeen cases we've identified, five have already died."  She glanced down at an open file folder.  "Seven have relatively mild symptoms.  The mutations they're dealing with are not particularly dangerous; they essentially have a nasty case of the flu.  Not fun, but not deadly.  But we're looking at five cases where I suspect we're going to see some deaths if we can't find something to target the specific mutations."

          "Vin?" Chris asked.

          "In that last category," Dr. McCabe replied, "just like our team member, and the seventeen-year-old waitress from the café."

          "My God," Josiah breathed, running his hand over his graying hair.  "Can it be done in time?"

          "I hope so," Dr. Durant replied.  "We're working around the clock on the individual cases we think are the most critical."

          "The problem is, we don't really know what the side-effects are going to be," McCabe added, deciding that these men needed to know what their friend was facing.  "We can't treat these people in hopes of heading off something, because we have no idea where the mutations will eventually lead.  We have to wait and treat what comes up, and, in a couple of cases, these things are churning out toxins we haven't been able to identify yet.  We have no way of predicting what the results of exposure will be until it manifests in the patients, and by then it could be too late."

          "I'm sure you understand, but the emphasis has to be on finding a way to combat this thing across the population," Dr. Connor said.

          "But we don't want to sacrifice those people who've already been exposed," Durant put in.  "There haven't been any new cases reported in the past twelve hours, although there are still two patrons unaccounted for, so we're hoping there won't be any additional cases beyond those two missing men."

          One of the security guards stepped into the room, saying, "Agent Larabee, we have a report of a suspicious vehicle outside, sir."

          The ATF agents rose from the table, following the man out, Larabee already issuing orders as he went.  The three members of the NIH team watched them go.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Wednesday, noon**

          "Doctor," Larabee said, stepping into the small office Connor had been given to use.

          "Building still secure?" the man asked, looking up from the lab results he had been reviewing.

          "Yeah, it was a couple of local activists who'd decided the lab was recruiting illegal aliens for experiments."

          Connor shook his head.  "I seriously doubt it.  That's probably a result of the fact that three of the sick are illegal."

          "How's Vin?" the blond asked.

          The doctor looked up and sighed softly.  "The organism is producing a toxin that we still haven't been able to identify…  It could trigger any kind of unexpected reaction…  We're keeping a close eye on him, and on the others."

          Larabee's jaw twitched in frustration.  "I heard we lost two more?"

          Connor nodded.  "One of my team was able to locate the last two patrons – two long-haul truck drivers.  They both died late last night."

          "Do you think you can come up with something to fight this thing?"

          "We'll do our best," Connor promised.  "Frank Powell is one of my best friends…  I know what you're feeling."

          Unable to think of a single thing to say, Chris looked away, nodding.  These people would do everything they could for Vin and the others.  All he could do now was wait… and pray.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Thursday, 0815 Hours**

          Vin sat in the small private room that he'd been given, reviewing some of the evidence and data other members of the team had collected.  He'd moved the single chair over next to the window earlier – away from the small hospital bed – then maneuvered the rolling tray that had been positioned next to the bed over as well.  That gave him the surface space he needed to open the file folders Josiah had dropped off.  He doubted he would find anything the others had missed, but he refused to take chances with the team's security.  Besides, it helped keep him busy and passed the time.

          Rubbing absently at his ever-tightening chest, he closed one file and opened another.

          When he reached the end of the small stack, still having not seen anything worth mentioning, he leaned back in the chair and sighed.  At this rate they might never determine who had tried to bomb the laboratory Monday morning.  Looking back now, it felt like that had been months ago, but it had only been days.

          He glanced at the dark television sitting in the corner of the room, but didn't feel like watching the news anymore.  That just left…

          He sighed heavily, reached for the pad of paper and the pen he'd asked Dr. Connor for when the doctor had dropped in to check on him earlier, then began to write.  He'd only trust the overall safety of Team Seven to someone he knew and respected.  If Benny Ray or Alex weren't available… well, Travis would just have to pull a few strings and get one of the two men reassigned to the ATF.  No one else would do.

          He coughed, the shock sending a sharp, tearing pain slicing through his chest and shoulders.  It was getting worse, just like the doc had warned him it would.

          Dr. Connor hadn't pulled any punches when he'd talked to Vin privately that morning.  The damn bug he'd caught was churning out some kind of toxin and, sooner or later, it would kill him if they couldn't find a way to destroy the damn thing.

          And things weren't going all that well for the NIH team – something about mutations and a bunch of other scientific gobbledygook he couldn't follow, but he'd gotten the meaning clear enough:  In all likelihood, he was going to die.

          He read over what he'd written and then signed the bottom of the page.  Everything he could do to ensure the survival and continued smooth operation of Team Seven had been accomplished.  That just left the personal…

          He folded the first page back and starting writing again.  It took him the better part of an hour before he was finished, but then he leaned back and sighed softly.  He'd still have to have a few talks before he got too sick and the doctors forced him into the bed, probably for good.

          He took a sip from the cup of juice setting next to him on the rolling table and then re-read his words, making a few changes here and there and then signing it at the end, too.

          Laying the pen aside, a sudden chill wrapped around Vin's shoulders.  He wasn't a superstitious man, but completing a will did give you a sense of your mortality, and the old saying about ghosts walking over graves echoed in the back of his mind.

          Except for the… human elements, he was ready now, just in case…  And once that was taken care of…  He huffed out a breath and shook his head, then leaned back in his chair and let his eyes drop closed.  Damn, but this was going to be hard and he was tired, more tired than he let on around the others.  But he knew he had to say goodbye to them – to each one of them.  They were his friends, his brothers… his family.  But that didn't mean he was looking forward to it, not in the slightest.  All in all, he figured the conversations might just be among the hardest things he'd ever had to do in his life.

          The door cracked open and the sniper's eyes opened and he sat forward again to meet whatever was coming next.

          "Mr. Tanner?" Dr. Connor called as he entered, drawing the door shut behind him but not closing it completely.  "Are you okay?"

          "Yeah, just tired."

          "I've have some news."

          Vin studied the man for a moment.  "Don't look like it's good news, Doc."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Chris paused outside the door to Vin's room when he heard the sniper say, "Don't look like it's good news, Doc."

          He swallowed hard, his body refusing to move as he continued to listen.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The NIH doctor walked over and leaned back against the wall.  "No, I'm afraid it isn't.  We've finally got a handle on the toxin."

          "Isn't that good?"

          "Yes and no.  We still don't know how to stop the virus…  The toxin…"  Connor sighed heavily and Vin realized that this wasn't easy for the man.  Like Chris, he was probably used to winning most the fights he ended up in, and this one looked to be one that was going to defeat him.  "Well, to cut to the chase, eventually the part of your brain that controls your autonomic breathing is going to fail."

          Vin's eyebrows climbed slightly.  "Y' mean it won't be like pneumonia then, with fluid buildin' up in m' lungs?"

          "No," Connor said.  "There will be some fluid buildup, but it'll gradually become harder and harder to breathe as the connection between the brain and the lungs is blocked or broken down – we're unsure which it is right now – you'll pass out from the lack of oxygen and—"

          "Die," Vin finished for him, glancing down at his handwritten will.  "Funny," he said quietly.

          "What's that?"

          "Sounds more peaceful than the majority 'a ways I imagined I'd go out."  He gave the doctor a thin smile.  "Sorry.  Guess I'm still not used t' the idea."

          "It's not easy," Connor agreed, his expression sympathetic.  "I understand.  And we're not giving up.  One of my best friends is lying in the room next door, and he's facing the same thing you are.  We're going to do everything we can to make sure you both survive this.  I give you my word on that."

          "I know y' are," Vin said with a nod.  "What kind 'a time are we lookin' at?"

          Connor sighed again and folded his arms across his chest.  He didn't want to explain the details, but he knew he didn't really have a choice.  Vin, like Frank, deserved to know the truth of what he was facing, which was why he'd decided to break the bad news to Tanner first.  Because, quite honestly, he wasn't sure he could do the same for Frank.  But this was his job, and by telling Vin he was being forced to face Frank's future prognosis as well, but that didn't sit well with him.  He ground his teeth together and steeled himself before he said, "At the current rate of replication, we're looking at the toxin reaching a critical level in seventy-two hours or so.  If we can come up with something that retards that rate, we'll be able to buy a little more time."

          "When do I need t' get my goodbyes said by?"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          That simple question struck Chris like a blow from a baseball bat.  He couldn't be hearing this.  Vin couldn't die.  But the doctor's next words told him it was an all-too-real possibility.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "My best guess," Connor replied, adding quickly, "and that's all it is at this point, would be that you'll need to begin supplemental oxygen sometime in the next twenty-four hours.  It'll get progressively worse from that point on."

          Vin nodded.  "Guess I'll need to get things wrapped up today then."

          Connor nodded.  He was sure Frank would tell him basically the same thing.  "I'm, uh, going to get back to the lab.  Don't give away the family fortune just yet, though, okay?  We've got a handle on the toxin now, and you can count that as a win for our side.  All we need is a way to inhibit it, or its action."

          The smile was genuine as Vin stood and accompanied Connor to the door.  "Hell, Doc, I don't own anything worth givin' away, but I'll keep what I've got – for a little while, anyway.  Oh, and tell Dr. McCabe and that pretty lady doctor if they don't get some rest pretty soon they aren't gonna be able t' help anyone.  You, either."

          That prompted a small smile from Connor.  "We'll rest when we get this thing figured out.  Right now, I want _you_ to get some rest, okay?"

          Vin chuffed out a weak laugh.  "Hell, Doc, I'll rest when I'm dead."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          When I'm dead…  Chris opened his mouth, ready to tell Vin he was wrong, that he wasn't going to die, that he needed to get his goddamn ass into that goddamn bed and do whatever the doctors told him to do, but he couldn't.

          He couldn't speak.  He could barely breathe.

          His eyes were beginning to sting, and he turned and hurried away as the door began to open.

          He couldn't do this again… he just couldn't.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Connor winced at the words.

          "Sorry," Vin apologized, wondering why he didn't feel more afraid than he did.  It wasn't like he thought they would find a way to fight this thing in time, he didn't.  But he also knew he wouldn't be dying alone.  Chris and the others would be there for him, and that gave him more courage than he'd ever expected.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**A short while later**

          Watching the elevator doors slide closed, Dr. Stephen Connor let his building frustration bubble up and he slammed the edge of his fist against the wall of the car.  It wasn't fair.  He'd watched Natalie and Miles working like maniacs the past three days.  Not to mention Larabee, who was wearing a rut into the floor between his borrowed command center and the lab.  And despite the brave masks they were all wearing, they all knew the truth:  their friends were dying faster than they could stop it.

          Reaching the basement, Stephen exited and headed back to Lab 3 where Natalie still sat hunched over her microscope.  Miles tapped away on a borrowed computer that was connected to the NIH's machines via a secure line.

          Miles looked up as Connor entered.  "Stephen, great.  I'm going to go check in on the patients while this all downloads."

          Connor nodded and watched as the younger man brushed past him, disappearing out the door.

          When McCabe was gone, he walked up behind Natalie and rested his hands on her shoulders.  He could feel the tension knotting her muscles and gently worked his fingers into the hard cords.

          She sat up straighter and let her eyes drop closed.  "That feels good," she said softly.  "I'm so tired."

          "I know, and I'm glad it feels good," he replied with a small smile.  He was still surprised by how quickly they had become friends.  Natalie Durant was bright, caring, dedicated…  He reached around and gave her a hug, feeling her press back against him, her head cocking to the side so she could rest it against his shoulder.  "I talked with Frank and Agent Tanner," he said softly.

          "And?" she whispered.

          "They understood… said they'd get things wrapped up today, just in case.  They're both so damn practical that I wanted to…"  He let her go and stepped around to take a seat on the stool next to hers.  "How's it going?" he asked, needing to change the subject.

          Straightening, she rubbed her eyes and shook her head.  "The same.  I haven't found anything that effectively inhibits the toxin, and the overall growth-rates are still erratic."

          "We'll find something," he reassured her, hoping it came out as positive as he'd wanted it to.  Both men's chances were slim, and they both knew it, but they had to believe there was a reason to keep going like this.  "Is the NIH group making any progress on deciphering the organism's genetic components?"

          "I don't think it's going to come soon enough," Durant said, her eyes filling with tears.  "Stephen, what are we going to do?  Frank…"  She trailed off, shaking her head slightly.

          "I don't know," Stephen replied softly, reaching out to take her hands in his.  "We just keep working, and hope…  Hope we can force a breakthrough in time."

          "Agent Jackson was down here a few minutes ago…  The ATF team, they're all… close, it seems."

          "Like us," Dr. Connor replied with a nod.

          "I don't want either of us to lose them.  Not now.  Not like this."

          Connor nodded.  "Then it's time for us to get back to work."  He stood.  "But Agent Tanner told me to tell you and Miles not to overdo it.  That it wasn't going to help Frank, or him."

          She nodded.  "He's very sweet.  I'll try and get a nap after I've finished this series."

          "All right," Connor said, heading for his own workspace.  "I'm going to hold you to that."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          When Dr. Conner left, Vin slumped back in his chair, but he knew he was too tired to stay there.  Grabbing his half-finished juice, he pushed the rolling table back over to the bed and lay down, using the controls to raise the head so he could sit up.  Leaning over, he pulled the rolling table closer, then picked up his pen and jotted down a list of the people he needed to talk to or call.

          He snorted to himself at the action.  Like he didn't know who he needed to talk to?  Hell, they were almost all right here… somewhere.

          Maybe he ought to start with the phone calls…

          "No time like the present," he muttered to himself as he picked up his cell phone off the nightstand next to the bed and punched in the number to the ATF offices.  "Hi, Lynn," he said when their admin answered, "it's Vin.  I have some paperwork that needs t' be picked up and processed ASAP."

          _"I'll send someone right over,"_ she replied.  _"And…  Well, we're all praying for you, Vin."_

          "Thanks, I appreciate it, but these docs are pretty smart, they'll come up with something."

          _"We all hope so.  And I'll send someone over right away."_

          "Thanks," Vin said again.  He ended the call and sagged back against his pillows, his strength failing him.

          He glanced at the clock on the wall, watching as the seconds ticked off, marveling at how fast they sped past.  Then he really noticed the time.  Where were the others?  Where was Chris?  He'd said he would stop in this morning…

          But then again, maybe he ought to be glad no one was there with him.  He knew it bugged the others to see him like this, and he couldn't blame them.  It bothered him, too.

          God, but he hated just lying here, waiting to die.

          This wasn't at all how he'd imagined it would be.  Going out in a burst of gunfire?  Sure.  Caught in an explosion?  Maybe.  Car accident?  Probable, given the way people were driving these days.

          Hell, even in a neighborhood drive by, or a robbery, but not from some damn engineered plague that his own government had let get out to kill him.  That just wasn't right…  Not right at all.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Thursday, 1257 Hours**

          Buck walked into the lab's cafeteria and headed directly for the coffee pots.  After a cup was corralled, he perused the offerings and settled on cereal.  Even the government couldn't botch Fruit Loops.  Locating a bowl, a spoon, and two cartons of milk, he took three boxes of the cereal, piled it all on a tray, and headed over to where Chris sat, staring dejectedly into his half-full coffee cup.

          "Hey, stud, this where you've been hiding?"

          Chris looked up, started by the interruption.  "Something wrong?"

          Buck shook his head as he arranged his food on the table and slid the empty tray onto an empty table next to them.

          Larabee's expression hardened as he watched the man's actions.

          "Chris, what's wrong?"

          "Nothing."

          "Well, I gotta tell ya, that's the most serious 'nothing' I've seen in a long, long time."  He poured the first small box of cereal into the bowl and added some milk.

          Green eyes shifted from the bowl to his friend.  Buck could always pull him out of the pits of self-pity Chris built for himself.  "Sorry," he said.  "I just wish there was something, _anything,_ I could do to help Vin…  I hate feeling useless."

          Munching on the breakfast cereal, Buck argued, "You're not useless, Chris.  This is just a… specialized problem.  Not like any of us can do anything for Vin.  But at least we're keeping the facility safe, making sure the docs can concentrate on what they need to do, right?"

          "Yeah, I know," Larabee replied tiredly.  "But Christ, Buck, it just isn't right, you know?  Vin brought down by a damn mouse?"

          "You been in to see him this morning?"

          Larabee pushed his cup away.  "I stopped by but he was… busy."

          Finishing off the last of the cereal from the first box, Buck took a sip of his coffee and grimaced.  It wasn't even close to what could reasonably be called tolerable.  "Oh?"

          Chris shrugged.  "I could've stayed, but…"

          "He wanted to be alone?"

          "I— I don't know…"  Larabee shook his head.  "It hurt, Buck," he said, his eyes searching the ladies' man's for understanding.  "It hurt to be there, listening to it get harder and harder for him to breathe…"  He trailed off, reaching out and taking the cup again, spinning it around several times.  "Am I being selfish?"

          Buck's lips compressed as he thought for a moment.  "No, I don't think so.  It's not easy for any of us, Chris.  Guess we've all gotten attached to that… scruffy Texan."  He slid his coffee over next to Larabee's once again abandoned cup.  "It's not the way any of us expected him to die."

          "And we're writing him off, too, aren't we?"

          "No…  Maybe…  Come on, Chris, it's just natural.  It hurts, and no one likes pain, but I know we're all busting our backsides to make sure those NIH guys can find a cure in time.  We're not letting him go without a fight, I can promise you that much.  And you better not either.  He needs you; you know he does."

          "Yeah…  And you're right," Larabee said, his voice cut with determination.  "We're not gonna give up on him."  He pushed his chair back and stood.  "I'm going to go talk with Vin."

          Buck nodded, a small, sad smile on his lips as he watched Larabee leave.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**At the same time**

          Vin looked up when a knock sounded on his closed door.  "Yeah," he called.

          Nathan stepped in, closing the door behind him.  "You have some paperwork to send back to the office?"

          Vin nodded to the file folders and the few sheets of paper lying on top, folded in half to conceal the contents.

          Nathan reached out and took them.  "How're you feelin'?" he asked.

          "To tell you the truth… lousy."

          The man eased uncomfortably into the empty chair.  "Something wrong, Vin?"

          Tanner managed a small grin.  "You know damn well what's wrong."

          Jackson nodded sadly.  Oh, yeah, he knew.

          "Look, I don't know how t' explain this—"

          "It's bad, isn't it."  It wasn't a question.

          Vin nodded once.  "Looks like m' luck's finally run out."

          Nathan glanced away, absently rubbing one thumb under his watchband.  "Never thought it'd happen…  Not to you, anyway."

          Vin snorted.  "Thought y' said I was the one Ezra had at even money t' be the first t' check out."

          Nathan looked back, meeting his friend's gaze.  "You know I hate that stupid pool."

          "Yeah, I know, but it helps… pass the time."

          "Bullshit," Jackson replied, his gaze returning to the floor.  "Hell, Vin, it isn't any easier for me to think about one of you getting killed out there."

          "I know…  Damn it," Vin said, pushing himself up a little farther in his bed.  "Guess that's the point, though, ain't it?  It was supposed to be _out there_.  It was supposed to mean something."

          Nathan looked up at the man, the friend, he'd known for five years now.  He'd watched Tanner grow into one of the best agents he'd ever known.  And Vin was right, a man like him was supposed to go out in the middle of a firefight, saving his team…  The Black man's head bobbed slightly.  "Yeah, guess I'd have to say we all feel like that.  But you can't give up yet," he added quietly, afraid if he spoke any louder his voice might catch on the lump in his throat.

          "Ain't givin' up," Vin said, his conviction clear in his voice.  "Ain't never gave up, and I sure as hell ain't gonna start now."

          Tanner stuck out his hand and Nathan stood to take it in his.  They shook, and the former medic took a step back.  "You're gonna kick this thing, y'hear me?"

          Vin grinned slightly.  "Yeah, I hear y'… but if I can't…"

          "Then I guess this is goodbye," Nathan finished for him.

          "Thanks," Vin said, his eyes getting a little watery.  "Really enjoyed workin' with y', Nate."

          "Same here, Vin," Nathan replied, then he leaned forward, giving the man a brief hug before he took the files and headed for the door, exiting without looking back and closing it behind him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Thursday, 1410 Hours**

          The next knock he heard was unexpected, and Vin looked up from where he was leaning over on the rolling table, resting his head on his folded arms.  He'd made his peace with dying and decided on what he wanted when it came to his funeral, which he'd written down and then gave to Josiah, who he knew would see to it his wishes were carried out.  That had also given him a chance to make his peace with the big man.  Josiah had ended the conversation with a big, heartfelt hug that had left him feeling better than he had in a day.

          In fact, he'd felt good enough to walk out and talked briefly to the NIH scientists, to thank them for all they were doing to try and save him.

          But now he was tired, aching, and his friends were hurting, but there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it.

          It was also getting harder and harder to breathe.  "Who is it?" he called as best he could.

          "It's me, Vin."

          "Come on in," he replied, wishing he could put off this talk with Chris, but there was little reason to postpone it.  He'd have to talk to the rest of them, and soon, too.  Still, this one would be particularly difficult since he had to exact a promise from the man he'd come to call his best friend, and his brother.  One he knew the man wasn't going to want to make.

          Larabee entered the room and closed the door behind him.  Taking the chair, he moved it closer to Vin's bed and sat down.  "You look terrible," he said, trying to smile.

          "Feel terrible," Vin replied honestly, not finding any reason to keep up the front any longer.

          "Maybe you should rest then," Chris suggested, feeling the palms of his hands getting moist.  He forced the fear back as he waited for the sniper's reply, part of him wanting the man to spare him this.

          Tanner nodded.  "Seems like a waste 'a the time I got left, y' know?"

          Chris pressed back against the chair, suddenly cold all over.  If Vin was talking like this he was faring much worse than he looked, and that was bad.  "Vin…" he said, trailing off.

          "Hell, Chris, I know this ain't easy on any 'a ya."

          Larabee shook his head, unable to speak.

          "'M sorry 'bout that, but I got t' ask y'… when m' replacement gets here, give the man a chance, okay?"

          Larabee folded his arms across his chest and scowled.  Then he snorted and shook his head.  "Vin, we don't need a replacement.  You'll—"

          "Chris, y' know as well as I do that 'm most likely gonna die."  There, it was said.  And neither man could deny it.

          Chris clamped his mouth shut, his jaw grinding.  Vin was right; he was probably going to lie right there in that bed and die.  "I'll do my best," he promised, but he knew it was a lie.  If Vin died, so did Team Seven.  None of them would have the heart to go on without him.  He knew for a fact he couldn't.  In fact, he didn't honestly think he could lose Vin and survive…  It was too much.  God, or fate, or whatever it was out there pulling the puppet strings had taken too much from him; he just didn't have anymore to give.

          "Thanks," Tanner said, his mouth tipping into a grin.  "Don't know who I feel sorriest for, though, t' tell y' the truth."

          The jolt of annoyance forced Chris back into the moment.  His eyes twinkled slightly and a thin grin forced its way onto his face, but it faded just as swiftly when the sniper grew serious again.

          "Chris, have t' ask y' another favor…"

          "Name it," he replied softly, hoping the growing lump in his throat didn't choke him to death where he sat.  He watched as Vin fought for a breath and stood.  He reached out, his hand closing over Tanner's.

          "When it gets… t' the point where there's… no hope—"

          "Vin—"

          "Let me finish, damn it," Vin said, blue eyes locking on Larabee's green, the intensity of the man's stare silencing the blond.  "When that happens… I want y' t' take me outside…  Take me someplace away from… labs 'n' hospitals 'n' cities 'n' cars… I don't want t' die… stuck in a damn… sickroom."

          Chris hesitated, wondering if he could actually carry out the request.  To take the man out of the hospital meant he'd have to accept the fact that Vin Tanner was dying, that they couldn't help him, that he'd lost someone else he cared about…

          "I'll try," he whispered, then drew a deep breath and said more forcefully, "but _not_ until we've exhausted every possible option.  I know we can beat this.  We have to."

          "'Kay," Vin said with a nod, knowing he was asking a hell of a lot from the man, and he'd gotten what he needed.  "I'll know when… 'n'… so will you."

          A knock interrupted the two men and Vin called, "Come."

          A nurse opened the door, noting the angry, frustrated look on the blond's face as he stood at Vin's bedside.  "I'll be back in a couple of minutes," she said, ducking back out.

          Chris sighed, all the words he'd managed to claw together in his mind scattered once again.  He looked back at Vin and all he could think to say was, "Dr. Durant wanted me to tell you she'd be coming for more blood samples.  Guess that's what the nurse is here for."

          "Great," Vin growled.  "Already feels like… I been… chewed on by vampires."

          Larabee reached out and patted Tanner's shoulder sympathetically.  "Could be worse."

          "Oh?"

          "She could be asking for—"

          "Don't even say it," Vin managed, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.  It was quickly replaced with relief, and Chris realized they had returned to "normal" for a moment.  But it was just for a moment.  The nurse knocked and entered this time, pushing a cart in front of her.

          "Can y' stay?" Vin asked quietly, a touch of fear creeping into his eyes.

          "Yeah, I can stay," Chris replied.  And he stood there, keeping his hold on Vin's hand while the woman took her samples.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Thursday, 1616 Hours**

          With a sigh Vin pressed the button on the television remote, scanning through the cable stations for a third time, then cut the power and slid the control onto the bedside table.  He hated inactivity.  He hated hospitals.  He hated needles, and being poked, prodded, pricked, palpated, and pressed for information about how he felt.

          He felt lousy, and anyone with eyes could see that just fine, all by themselves.  He was wheezing, his chest hurt, his body ached, and he was feverish when he wasn't enjoying a nasty case of the chills.  To top it all off, a persistent nausea made it impossible for him to drink anything hot, which seemed to be the only thing anyone had found that helped the constriction in his chest.

          JD had come by earlier to cheer him up, and they had ended up talking for three hours.  It was the younger man's way of saying goodbye, and Vin appreciated the casual but heartfelt approach.  Buck had finally called, asking JD to come down to the command center to look at some data they had on their latest round of suspects.

          They shook hands, and JD started out, saying, "Hang in there, Vin.  If anyone can work miracles, it's this team."

          That had been over two hours ago.  He expected somebody to drop by and give him an update on what was happening, but they were no doubt too busy.  Still, despite his best efforts, he was annoyed.  He didn't want to be alone.

          And that was a new feeling…  And it scared him.  He pulled the blanket up farther, sensing a chill begin.  Closing his eyes, he tried to ignore the trembling, cold and ache that squeezed through his bones.  The whisk of the door opening cracked his eyes back open.

          Dr. McCabe gave him an assessing once over and headed straight for the bed.  "Vin?"

          "I'm… o-okay," he said through chattering teeth.  "J-just… c-c-chills… c-c-cold."

          Reaching to the foot of the bed, the doctor pulled up a second blanket, tucking it in around him.

          "T-thanks…"

          "No problem," he said, reaching out and pressing his hand to Tanner's cheek.  "Your fever's still up."

          Vin nodded.

          "Does it feel like it's getting worse?"

          "Yeah," was the blunt, but honest, reply.

          McCabe looked away, his lips pressing together in frustration.  "They told you we've isolated the toxin, right?"

          Vin nodded again.

          "Well, Dr. Durant has come up with several possible inhibitors that we're trying out, but nothing's working well enough to test it on you."

          "Why?"

          McCabe stopped, shaking his head in frustration.  "We don't know, especially since the toxin only varies slightly as the organism mutates."

          "You're losin' me here, Doc."

          "We have to be careful, the inhibitors are also toxic in high dosages."

          Vin gave him a wan smile.  "Rock 'n' a h-hard spot, huh?"

          McCabe nodded.  "We'll figure it out.  Dr. Durant is an amazing scientist, and the people at the NIH are working around the clock."

          "'M countin' on it."

          "The team working on the capsid thinks—"  He stopped, knowing he wasn't making sense to the man.

          "How's everybody doin'?" Vin asked him.

          "We lost the two students," he admitted.  "The woman who works for UPS is hanging in there…"

          "That's g-good.  And your f-friend?"

          The doctor's expression grew taut.  "He's hanging in there, but it doesn't look good.  We're doing everything we can…"

          "I know that… 'n' so does he."

          He looked down at his watch.  "I have to go, okay?"

          Vin nodded reluctantly.

          "Besides, Agent Larabee's waiting outside."  He reached out and patted Vin's shoulder.  "We're going to beat this."

          "Then y' better get back t' w-work."

          He nodded.  "Hang in there with us."

          "I'll try," was the whispered reply.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          With Chris there with him the time passed a little quicker, but the constant deep ache in his muscles and joints, coupled with an increasing difficulty in breathing chewed away at his strength and his will.  He was grateful for the company, more grateful than he could explain.

          It was hard, waiting for death, especially after having fought against it so often in the past.  The shadow of death, of his own mortality, had clung to the corners of his life, always present, always visible, if just from the corner of his eye.

          He'd expected it to descend upon him quickly.  A shot, an explosion… an instant of pain and regret, and then the welcoming light he'd heard his grandfather describe.  Not this.

          Not slow.

          Not helpless.

          He could sense his body shutting down, and more pieces of machinery were being added to the collection around his bed, picking up the functions his body was being stripped of.  Oxygen was added, taking the harsh edge off his labored breathing, but it was only a matter of time, and he knew it.

          He glanced over at Chris, who had dropped off to sleep sometime earlier.  The man's dark blond hair was disheveled, and black smudges filled the hollows beneath his eyes.  It hurt to see the man looking like that, but there was nothing he could do about it.

          A soft knock sounded in the room, barely discernable over the din of the equipment, but he'd been waiting for it.  "Chris," he called softly.

          "Huh?" Larabee asked, jerking slightly as he catapulted awkwardly into consciousness.

          "Ezra's here," Vin wheezed.  "Get the door, would ya?"  Chris nodded and pushed himself to his feet.  And, after running his fingers through his hair, he started for the door.  "Hey, Chris?"

          "Yeah?" Larabee asked, pausing.

          "Like some time alone with 'im, okay?"

          Larabee nodded, then reached for the knob and pulled.  Ezra waited outside, looking scared and uncertain.  "Vin's waiting for you."

          Ezra tried to smile, but he was afraid, and the attempt failed about halfway through.  Chris stepped out, letting the undercover man enter.

          Stepping into the hall, Chris let the door fall closed behind him as he pressed back against the wall.  Rubbing the moisture from his eyes, he shook his head.  It just wasn't fair…  Why the hell couldn't the doctors _do_ something?

          Hell, they had already managed to locate the man responsible for the pipe-bombing on Monday, and several people had told them it would be impossible.  They had pulled off the impossible, did it on a regular basis, so why couldn't the NIH team do the same?

          He huffed out a deep sigh, knowing he was being unreasonable, but he couldn't help himself.  He wanted them to find a fix for this.  He wanted them to put an end to his nightmare, but they weren't cooperating.

          And there wasn't a goddamn thing he could do to help; none of them could.  They were just stuck acting like high-priced security guards while they waited… and waited… and waited some more.

          He was sick of waiting.  He was sick of seeing Vin hurt.  He was just sick of the whole damn thing.

          Sick and tired…  And maybe it would be better if—

          He stopped the thought before it really formed.

          Pushing away from the wall he stalked off, angry and not knowing who to take it out on.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Thursday, 1731 Hours**

          "Hi," Ezra said quietly, his gaze roving over the various pieces of equipment Josiah had warned him would be there now.

          "Hi yourself," Vin whispered, motioning him closer to the bed with a weak flick of his wrist.

          "Dr. Connor has said I cannot stay long."

          "Hell with that," Vin said with a wheeze.  "I'll… spend what… time I got… how I want," he told his friend with a conspiratorial wink, then he patted the mattress.  "Have a seat."

          Ezra eased into the chair sitting beside the bed, careful not to disturb any of the various wires or tubes.  He folded his hands in his lap and stared down at them, picking absently at a cuticle.

          Vin waited for a moment, wondering if Ezra was going to say anything, and when it appeared he wasn't, he reached out his hand and Standish caught it in his.

          "How are you doing?" the undercover man asked, then immediately shook his head.  "Undoubtedly the stupidest question I have ever posed."

          Vin nodded his agreement.

          "Yes, well, you still had no need to agree with me."

          Vin squeezed his hand.  "Thinkin' I might not get better."

          "You mean you're surrendering the fight?" was the brutal rebuttal.

          Vin shook his head and said quietly, "Just runnin' out 'a fight."

          Ezra looked away, chewing his bottom lip, his eyes filling.  "I do not want you to die…  For purely selfish reasons, I might add."

          "Don't want to… either… but we don't usually… get a choice… 'bout these… kinds 'a things."

          "I am well aware—"

          "What?" Vin asked, honestly curious what it was the man had almost said.

          Ezra shook his head and reached up with his free hand to wipe a tear off his cheek.  "It was nothing, just a rail against the fates…"

          Pushing himself farther up in the bed, Vin said, "I wanted t' tell you…  'M gonna miss all 'a ya… a lot."

          Ezra sucked in a breath and nodded again.  "And I will miss you, too, Mr. Tanner," he said, holding tighter to the man's hand.  "I…  I—"

          "What?"

          "I wish I could exchange places," he choked out, looking away from the dying man.

          That took Vin completely by surprise, although, when he thought about it, he wasn't sure why it should.  They all felt like that, and if situations were different, and it was one of the others lying in this bed, he knew he'd wish the very same thing.

          "Ain't gone yet," Vin said, trying to smile.

          "No," Ezra agreed.  "But I— I want to thank you… Vin."

          "For?"

          "You were the first one on the team who truly accepted me," Ezra said.  "Your… friendship made the transition… bearable, and, I think, made it easier for the others to give me the benefit of the doubt."

          Vin grinned.  "Hell, Ezra… y' weren't all _that_ bad."

          That sparked a grin from the man.  "Yes, well, of course I wasn't," he complained.

          "Says you."

          Ezra shot him a glare.

          "Don't give me that… look.  You're… pickin' up Larabee's bad habits."

          Ezra nodded, but he could feel the tears building again.  "I should go, let you rest…" he said, starting to stand.

          "Just wanted… all 'a ya t' know," Vin said as he did.  "I love y' all… like family…"

          Ezra nodded, his throat suddenly too tight to permit him to speak.  He beat a hasty retreat from the room, silently praying for what was looking more and more like a necessary miracle.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Friday, 0512 Hours**

          "Damn it."

          "What?" Connor asked, looking up from his microscope.  He blinked, trying to force his eyes to focus.

          Natalie Durant tossed her clipboard down on the table and rubbed savagely at the back of her neck.  "I can't keep up with the mutations.  Every time I think we've got a handle on it, the damn thing changes, and the graphs are getting less and less predictable the longer we keep going!"

          Connor stood and joined the woman.

          She took a deep breath and looked up at him.  "Sorry," she said almost shyly.  "I shouldn't be taking this out on you."

          Reaching out, he pulled her into a hug.  "You've been putting up with me, it's the least I can do."

          She stood, resting in the shared embrace.  Then she stepped back, her expression lighting up for the first time in days.  "That's it!"

          "What?"

          "The patterns are breaking down because the _organism's_ started to break down!  We've known all along that the recombination isn't stable."  At Connor's blank look she said, "It's dying, Stephen.  If we can just keep Frank and the others going, that damn thing will die off on its own!"

          Connor's arms snaked around her waist more tightly and he swung her around with a whoop.  "You're right!"  He huffed out a breath and said, "We need to find out what the deterioration rate of this monster is."

          She nodded, feeling a little hope for the first time in days.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Friday, 0813 Hours**

          Chris watched the second hand of the large wall-clock rotate steadily.  Time had lost any particular association with the shift of shadows or the coming and going of the nurses.  Seconds were measured in the forced, ragged gasps that passed for breathing, and were amplified to an eternity when the labored hiss caught, Vin's diaphragm going into spasm.  When the stalled breath would tumble out in a coughing wheeze, Larabee would allow himself to breathe again and time plodded along once more, carrying them all closer to tragedy.

          The full mask over Vin's face now made little difference in his constant fight to move air in and out of his lungs.  The blond ground his teeth together, noting the slightly blue pallor around the sniper's lips.  The last nurse who had come in had told him they would be putting Vin on a ventilator soon…  But he knew the man would never allow that.  They'd have to sedate him; he'd end up lying in that bed and dying…  He was dying, right now, right in front of his eyes.

          Vin was sitting upright in the bed, his hands pressed tightly against his thighs, his fingers turned inward, pointing toward each other the way the nurse had shown him earlier.  His shoulders were hunched forward to provide as much room as possible for his lungs to work, and he concentrated on breathing.  Nothing else mattered.

          The muscles in his neck, shoulders, and arms were corded with the continuing effort and sweat ran down his face to drip off his chin.

          As it had before, the fight eventually grew easier for a time and the blue eyes blinked open, blearily searching the room until he spotted Chris, who had retreated away from the painful wheezing that threatened to drive him mad with frustration.

          Vin met his eyes and held his gaze.  Chris could read the truth he saw there as easily as he did a newspaper.  Vin was glad he was close by, glad he had a friend with him in this hell he'd found himself caught in.  Vin was afraid, and he didn't want to be alone.

          So simple what it all came down to in the end…

          The tightening in Vin's chest had increased, the spasms coming closer and closer now.  And Larabee knew part of that look was gratitude for the promise Vin still thought Chris could carry out…

          "Chris…" Tanner rasped.

          "Easy, Vin," Larabee said, pushing out of his chair and walking to the foot of the bed, afraid if he got any closer it would somehow make Vin worse… or he might have to watch the light leave the man's eyes…  He swallowed thickly and forced himself to stay put as he said, "It's fine, Vin.  I'm here.  Just keep breathing, okay?"

          "It's… time," Tanner said weakly.  "Get me… outta here."

          Chris felt the cold steel arrows of fear shoot through his bones, immobilizing him.  No!  It wasn't time!  It couldn't be.  Connor and Durant _had_ to find a cure, they had—

          "Chris… y' gave… your word…"

          Squeezing his jaw tight, Larabee forced himself to take the three steps that brought him to Vin's side.

          Frightened, pleading blue eyes looked up at him, begging him to make good on that damn promise.  "Please…"

          "I'll— I'll get a wheelchair," was the only thing Chris could think to say.  "I'll be right back.

          Vin nodded, the gratitude in his eyes almost enough to make Larabee sick to his stomach.  He watched the man go, knowing he was going to need a lot of help when this was over.  Yesterday, when he'd finally been able to talk to Buck, it had been Chris that they had talked about.

          About how he was going to be hurting…

          About how he was going to want to leave the team…

          About how close he'd come to killing himself with alcohol when Sarah and Adam had died, and how he'd probably retreat to the bottle again…

          But, like before, Buck would be there for the man.  Buck and the others this time, too.  They would have to keep a close eye on Larabee…

          But he knew they would.  He knew Buck would do everything in his power to make sure the man came though this…

          God.  He'd never thought that he'd mean that much to anybody, never guessed that his death might actually cause that much pain in somebody else's soul.  And here he was, hurting four men, and coming close to destroying a fifth…  Who the hell would have thought?

          Him…

          He didn't want to die.  He didn't want to hurt them like that, especially not Chris, but he couldn't stop it.  He'd fought.  He fought hard, and for longer than he'd thought he could.

          But every time he'd considered giving up, surrendering to the beckoning darkness that crowded his vision, he saw the look on Chris' face and he'd found the strength to keep fighting for one more breath, and one more, and one more…

          But it was getting harder and harder now, and he knew that, before long, no matter how hard he fought, no matter how much he wanted to live, he wasn't going to be able to draw another breath.  His body was going to betray him, regardless of his willingness to keep up the fight.

          And then he'd die.

          _Please, Lord_ , he thought, _watch over 'em…  Watch over Chris.  Please.  He's gonna need Ya, Lord.  Just help him though this…  We need him here, doing what he does best, but he ain't gonna make it without Ya…_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**A short while later**

          "Vin, Chris, we—"  Dr. Connor pulled up short, his gaze sweeping over the empty room.  "What the—?"

          "They're gone?" Dr. Durant asked, confused.

          McCabe passed the doorway, just avoiding Stephen and Natalie as they stampeded past him and into the hall.

          "Nathan!" Durant called out, catching sight of the former medic who was standing at the end of the hallway, talking with Josiah Sanchez.

          Jackson turned to look at her, he and Josiah hurrying down to join them when they realized the doctors were gathered at the door to Vin's room.

          "Something wrong?" Nathan asked as they reached the NIH team.

          "Agent Larabee and Vin are missing," Durant said.  "Have you seen them?"

          Josiah shifted uncomfortably, chewing on his lower lip.  "Yes, ma'am, I've seen them…" he admitted reluctantly.

          "Josiah," Nathan growled, "what's going on?"

          "We have to find them – _now_ ," Connor said.

          "I'm sorry, Doctor," Josiah apologized.  "But I gave Vin my word, I—"

          "Agent," Dr. Durant snapped, "we think we have a way to save Vin's life, _if_ we can get to him in time.  Where is he?"

          "What?" Josiah said, his face going pale.

          "Goddamn it!" Nathan swore, dragging his damp palm over his mouth.  "They left, didn't they?"

          "Left?" Dr. McCabe asked, his eyes rounding with surprise and worry.

          Josiah was nodding.  "They left the lab," he acknowledged, grabbing the cell phone at his belt and speed dialing a number.  "Buck, get JD, we have to find Chris and Vin A-S-A-P.  They left here in the Ram about three minutes ago, headed west."  An acknowledgement echoed over the phone as he turned back to the threesome.  "Vin didn't want to die in a hospital.  He made an arrangement with Chris—"

          "Do you know where they went?" Dr. Connor demanded.

          "No," the big man said sadly.  "I helped Chris get him into the Ram and they left."  The man's face pinched slightly.  "From the way Vin looked, they won't have gotten far."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Chris pulled onto the dirt shoulder of the road and cut the motor.  Bolting out of his seat, he rounded the front of the truck and jerked the passenger door open.  Vin was leaning back against the seat, trying to suck in another breath.

          Slipping his arm behind the younger man's back, Larabee pulled Vin to the edge of the seat, supporting him as Tanner's feet dropped to the ground and he stood on shaking legs.  Together they stumbled slowly down a small incline to a clump of pine trees.

          Easing Vin down to the ground, Chris collapsed next to him, fear causing his body to tremble uncontrollably.  The ring of blue around Vin's mouth was darker now, and spreading down his chin.

          Vin's eyes opened, and he looked up through the boughs of the trees into the blue, cloudless sky beyond.  "Thank… ya."

          Chris reached out and gripped his friend's shoulder.  "Damn it, Vin, it's not supposed to work like this," he choked out.

          A small, crooked smile lifted the sniper's lips.  "Tell me… 'bout it."  He fought through another breath, then added.  "Y' will… survive this… Chris… trust me.  I'll… be there… with ya."

          Larabee's eyes slid closed, the tears he'd denied himself earlier finally falling.  Without thinking, he pulled Vin into his lap, supporting the younger man against his chest.  The struggle for breath eased slightly, and Chris could feel Tanner relax a little.

          "Thank y'… m' friend… m' brother…" Vin whispered.

          "Shh," Chris said, unable to speak.

          "Y'all… 'r m' family… love y'… all… gave me… more 'n… ever… thought… I'd have…"

          "Vin, please," Chris managed to choke out.

          "I'll be… watchin' out… for ya… Chris…"

          Larabee squeezed his eyes closed, willing this all to be a dream, but he knew it wasn't…  He knew his best friend was dying in his arms…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "There!" Buck barked, his hand reaching automatically for Josiah's arm.

          "I see it," Sanchez replied, pulling off the road and parking behind the Ram.

          "We've got them!" Buck snapped into his cell phone as he and Josiah climbed out of the Chevy Suburban.  "Two miles west, on Esperanza."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          In Ezra's Jag, JD and the undercover man exchanged glances.  "Well?" Standish asked.

          "We're close," JD replied.  "Can't hurt…"

          "My feelings, exactly," Ezra concurred, turning around and flooring the accelerator.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          After a quick check of the truck, Buck and Josiah scanned the surrounding area, the ladies' man spotting the two men first.  "There," he said and pointed.

          Josiah started forward.

          "Wait," Buck whispered, reaching out to stop the man.

          Chris rocked Vin slowly from side to side, the tears on his face telling them more than they wanted to know.

          "Goddamn it," Buck swore under his breath, and Josiah placed his hand on his shoulder to try and comfort him, but he knew it would do no good.  There was no comfort for a loss like this.

          They heard the Jag pull up and, a moment later, Ezra and JD joined them, their faces all expressionless masks as Chris tipped his head back and an inarticulate cry tore free of his throat, and echoing over the still landscape.

          Josiah nodded and the four men walked silently back to their vehicles, giving Chris and Vin their privacy.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Vin felt his struggle begin to ease, the pain slipping away as the desperate need for air disappeared.  A velvet swirl of colors enveloped him, blocking out his view of the pine boughs and the sky.

          From a distance he could hear Chris' voice, but the words were lost in a rising euphoria he couldn't explain.  He welcomed the sensations, embraced them, feeling whole and well for the first time in days.

          How long the warm, silky rainbow cradled him like that, Vin wasn't sure, but when he found himself floating near the top of a pine tree, he sucked in a breath of surprise.  At least, he thought he did.

          _What in the world…?_

          He glanced around, disorientated by the unusual aerial perspective, and felt a tug on some part of his awareness that he couldn't quite identify.  He looked down.

          Chris was holding him, cradling him in his arms as tears flowed freely down the blond's cheeks.

          _What the hell's going on?_ he wondered, trying to reach out and touch the man.  If he could just explain to him that he was fine, that he could breathe now, he—

          _I'm not breathing._

          Vin studied himself more closely.  His head was resting limply against Chris' shoulder, his chest still.  He'd seen death often enough to recognize it, even in himself.

          _I'm… dead._   The thought wasn't as frightening as he'd imagined it would be.  _But this floatin' around is gonna take some gettin' used to._

          Forcing his attention away from Chris, Vin caught sight of the others at the top of the hill.  They were all looking miserable and crying, too.

          _Ah hell, y' weren't all supposed t' be here.  It was supposed t' be me and Chris.  Y' didn't have to see this._   Although, he realized, that they were all there made him pulse with a warmth he could never describe in words.

          Wait…

          Nathan was missing…

          Where was he?

          He tried to move closer to the gathered men, but the activity did nothing more than tip him forward somehow.

          His arms flailing, he righted himself and wondered if it was true that angels had to earn their wings.  That would sure make getting around a lot easier.

          Then he grinned to himself.  Of course, he was making some really big assumptions now…

          He glanced back at the men.  Still no Nathan.

          Glancing down, he found Larabee staring up at him.  _Chris?_ he called.

          But instead of an answer, Vin saw the man's mouth open and a single sharp cry of pain lanced out from Larabee, slicing straight through Vin.  He winced, feeling Chris' emotional anguish as it passed though him.

          _Chris, it's okay,_ he called.  _I'm okay, now.  Let go, it's okay._

          More movement interrupted Vin's efforts to communicate with his friend, and he searched the hillside, finding Ezra now seated on the ground next to his car, knees drawn up to his chest, arms hugging his legs, his face buried against his knees.  He knew the man was crying.

          Feeling Ezra's pain joining Chris', Vin pulled back.  Then he saw that they were all crying, and he could feel them all, too – different shades of loss, grief and hurt.

          _I don't want t' hurt y'all.  I can't help this._

          An odd sound caught his attention, the first he'd actually "heard" since the colors had surrounded him, and he spun around, but there was nothing here except the trees and the sky.  Then, at the edges of his vision, a fine white mist started closing in.

          He tried to back-peddle back away from the fog, but the swirling colors returned, wrapping themselves around him, buoying him along like a leaf on a slow-moving river.

          _No, wait!_ he cried silently.  _I want to—_

          In the distance a light appeared, bright and pulsing.  A comforting sound rose slowly in pitch as he moved closer to the light and the fear and worry fell away, shed like a second skin he no longer needed.

          Moving faster now, Vin surrendered to the indescribable feelings that surged through him, opening his arms wide to embrace the light as it engulfed him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Wiping at his eyes, Josiah started down the hill.  Breaking away from the others, Buck followed him.

          Chris looked up at the two men, then down at Vin.  "He's gone," he whispered.

          "I'll take him, Chris," Josiah said quietly, extending his hands.

          Chris started to protest, but then allowed the older man to gather up Vin's body and carry it up to the Ram.

          Buck helped his friend climb to his feet, the two of them stumbling up the hill after Josiah.  At the top, JD reached out, catching Chris' hand in his own and giving it a hard squeeze.

          Chris pulled free and climbed into the back of the Ram, sitting down next to the body.  Reaching into his jacket pocket, he tossed Buck the keys to the truck.

          "I don't think I can drive," he said simply.

          The others waited until the Ram pulled away before walking over to the other vehicles.  Josiah reached out and pulled Ezra to his feet.

          Wiping his face, Standish said, "I— I don't think I can drive either."

          "Come on," Josiah said with a sympathetic nod and a short hug.  "Climb in.  JD can drive you back."

          JD nodded.  "Yeah, sure, no problem."  He met Josiah's eyes.  "I'll, uh, follow you, okay?"

          Josiah nodded, then headed to the Suburban and climbed in.  A few moments later he was pulling back onto the road.  JD followed him as he said he would.

          Ezra watched the younger man as he drove, his gaze fixed determinedly on the road, but they were bright with tears.

          "Vin Tanner, dead…" Standish said quietly.

          JD nodded.  "Never thought I'd see the day."

          "None of us did," Standish replied.

          JD nodded, his own tears starting all over again.  "When we were talking…  He— He said he'd watch out for us," he whispered.  "Do you think he will?  That he might be… right now?"  A warm hand settled on his shoulder and JD nodded.  He knew Ezra understood.

          "I certainly wouldn't put it past him," the undercover man told him, his voice strained.  "Would you?"

          JD shook his head, a small smile lifting the corners of his lips.  "No… I wouldn't."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Emerging from the loving embrace of the light, Vin found himself momentarily blinded.  He blinked and rubbed his eyes, wondering where he had been taken.

          "It takes a moment to adjust."

          "Mama?"

          A reassuring hand gripped his shoulder, and Vin squinted and peered into a young woman's blue eyes.  She looked exactly the same as Vin remembered her.

          "Mama, it _is_ you!"

          "Yes," Katherine Olivia Tanner replied with a sly smile.

          Vin's gaze shifted from his mother's face to the dirt trail they were standing on.  It was running alongside a wide, slow-moving river.  Glancing across to the far bank, he thought he could make out the face of his grandfather standing in the foggy mists.  And other faces faded in and out of the swirling grey mist as well.

          "I'm really dead, aren't I?" Vin asked quietly.

          "No, Vin.  Not yet."

          His gaze shifted back to his mother, both eyebrows arching toward his hairline.  "But—"

          "You can't stay here, baby."

          "Why?"  Vin reached out, his hand closing on the very real arm of the woman.

          "It's a mistake that you're here, sweetie.  It's not your time – not yet."

          Vin's mouth tipped into a grin.  "That sounds like a line from a bad late-night movie, Mama."

          "But it's true."  With a hand on her son's arm, she led them to a felled snarled tree trunk next to the water and sat down, Vin opting to pace along the riverbank.  "Ya have t' go back, Vin.  There's too much you've left unfinished."

          "Unfinished?" he asked, his hands sliding up to rest on his hips.

          "Your family needs you."

          "I— I know they do," he mumbled, looking down at his feet.  "I didn't want t' hurt 'em."

          She stood and walked over to him, soothing him with her hand pressed to his cheek.  "I know y' didn't, sweetie.  But you're needed there.  They all need ya to be with them longer."

          She pointed across the river and out of the swirling mists Vin could see the vague outlines of other people he thought he ought to recognize.  He shivered.

          "But I don't want to lose you again, Mama," Vin breathed quietly.

          She smiled at him and stroked his face.  "Ya have so many who love you…  Ya felt their pain, didn't ya?"

          Vin nodded and swayed slightly, a wave of dizziness washing over him as he recalled the disconcerting sensations emanating from Chris and all the others.  "I don't want to die, Mama.  But—"

          "I know, sweetie, I know.  Here there's no pain, no frustration or hopelessness.  But ya wouldn't be happy here.  You'd worry and watch the riverbank for those you've come t' love, and when they came, you'd feel ashamed and guilty."

          Vin nodded.  "Yeah, I guess I would."  In the distance he thought he might hear voices, orders being barked.  "Guess I don't belong here, do I."

          She shook her head.  "No, not yet."  She leaned in and kissed his cheek.  "I've missed you, baby, but I've been watching you…  You're a good man, Vin Tanner.  A strong man.  You're a Tanner, and a Tanner never gives up."

          He nodded.  "I'm not givin' up, Mama…"

          "You have a good family, a real good family, Vin.  And you love them."

          He nodded, meeting her eyes.  God, but she was beautiful.  "I want t' go back, Mama.  Please?"

          Smiling and leaning forward to kiss him on the cheek again, she said, "This way."

          As they walked along the trail he thought he could hear the voices getting louder.  And there were other noises, mechanical ones, beeping sounds…  He looked over at his mother.  "Are you happy here?" he asked her.

          She nodded and smiled.  "I'm with your daddy, and my mama, Grandpa…"

          "My daddy?" Vin asked.  "You never told me who—"  He felt a sharp tug and he reached out, grabbing on to his mother's hand.  "Mama?"

          "It's all right, baby, we'll all be here when ya come t' stay, I promise."

          He felt the solid ground beneath his feet give away, sending him tumbling into the swirling colors.  The fall didn't really frighten him until the first soft caress of cold and pain reached out and touched him.

          "Mama!" he cried.

          "You'll be fine, baby.  I'll be with you… always…"

          The colors evaporated in the blink of an eye, pain and blackness encircling him, constricting his chest.  And then, with a blinding flash of agony, he sucked in a breath and mentally scrambled frantically for the beckoning blackness that now lay just beyond his reach.

          _Chris!_ he cried, hoping the man could hear him and could help him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Friday, 0910 Hours**

          Chris kept his gaze carefully averted from the too-still form lying next to him in the truck bed.  Not since Sarah and Adam had died had he felt so utterly cold and numb inside.  He reached up, pulling his jacket tighter around his shoulders, knowing at the same time that it would do nothing to cut the chill.

          In the cab of the truck, Buck saw the laboratory come into view and noted Nathan and some other nurses were waiting at the doors.  "Chris, looks like something's up!" he yelled back at the man.

          But Larabee didn't hear a word the ladies' man said.  Buck's comment was lost when Vin sucked in a deep breath, causing Larabee to jump.

          "Vin?" Chris gasped, scooting closer to Tanner's body, his hands reaching out to test for a pulse.  There was nothing… except…

          Larabee felt the Ram turn into the secured parking lot.  "He's breathing!" he yelled at Buck.

          The ladies' man accelerated, driving straight to the door and breaking to a squealing stop.  Nathan and the nurses swarmed to the side of the Ram before he could cut the engine.  The NIH doctors arrived, Dr. McCabe pushing a gurney.

          "Hurry!" Connor bellowed.

          The tailgate was pulled down, people pushing in past Larabee to hastily remove Vin.

          "Easy with him!" Chris snapped.  "He's—"

          "Hurry!" Connor barked again.

          "What's going on?" Buck demanded, watching as Vin was transferred onto the gurney and wheeled inside, Connor and the other NIH doctors trailing behind, everyone moving at a run.

          "No time," Nathan said, grabbing Chris' sleeve and hurrying him out of the truck bed.  "They have to get him on life support."

          "Nathan, he's dead!" Buck snapped.

          "Not yet he isn't!" Nathan said, herding the two men into the facility.

          "Nathan," Chris said, coming to a stop.  "He _was_ dead," he said bluntly.  "But I think he— I think he took a breath."

          "Bodies do that," Buck said, his tone sympathetic.  He looked to Jackson for conformation.

          Nathan took a deep breath and said in a rush, "Frank Powell died too, but they got him back."

          Chris' eyes rounded.  "Can they—?"

          "I don't know," Nathan said.  "They were right on top of things when he… died."

          Chris' expression shifted from shocked hope to utter devastation.  "You mean—?  If we'd stayed—?  _I_ killed him?"

          "Chris, no," Buck said, his arm going around the man's shoulders as he saw Larabee begin to sag.  He looked over, meeting Nathan's eyes.  "Help me get him into a chair."

          Jackson nodded and reached out, the two men maneuvering Larabee down the hallway and into a chair in their command and control.  Chris leaned over the table and buried his face in his arms, his shoulders jerking with the silent sobs that shook his body.

          Buck looked to Nathan.  " _Did_ we kill—?"

          The Black man shrugged, shaking his head.  "I'll go see what I can find out."

          The ladies' man nodded, his gaze falling to Chris' back.  _Jesus_ , he thought, _if taking him out there killed him…_   He squeezed his eyes closed, begging the Divine _not_ to put his oldest friend through that kind of hell.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Friday, 0917 Hours**

          Nathan stared in disbelief at the clearly registering brain activity.  And, while he watched, Dr. Connor administered a mild stimulus to Vin's heart, sending the ECG back into a normal, rhythmic pulse.

          "Respirator has him now," Dr. McCabe said.

          "BP is coming up," Dr. Durant echoed.

          "How?" Ezra whispered.  "We saw him… die out there."

          Nathan and the others looked over at the doorway to the room, finding Ezra, JD and Josiah standing there.

          "He didn't die," Dr. Durant replied.  "He just stopped breathing.  Come on, let's go to the conference room so they can work and I'll explain."

          Exiting, she and Nathan found several of the laboratory personnel waiting anxiously for news in the hallway.

          "He's alive," Dr. Durant told them, the scientists and technicians whooping in unison.  "This way," she said to the agents, smiling slightly at the display of enthusiasm.  Nathan, Josiah, Ezra and JD trailed after her, peppering her with questions as they went.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Find a spot," Dr. Durant told them waving her hand and heading for the coffee pot carefully ensconced in a corner of the room.  She poured four cups and carried them over to the table, distributing them as she explained.  "Okay, this is how I _think_ it worked.  The mutation that Agent Tanner, and our friend were infected with was particularly unstable, and the recombination kept breaking down, which was why we were having so much trouble keeping up with the shifts.  But it wasn't breaking down fast enough to stall the effects of the toxins it was also producing as it lived and carried out its basic metabolic functions.  In fact, I think the production of the toxins actually played a large role in the speeding up of its genetic breakdown."

          "And the toxins are what… killed him?" Josiah asked, then amended, "or whatever that was out there that looked like dead?"

          "The toxins built up to the point where Agent Tanner lost autonomic respiratory control, but, at the same time, they were making the recombination break down.  We figured that out just before Agent Larabee managed to—  Anyway, that's why we came looking for Vin.  Frank went critical first, and we thought that if we could get Vin on a respirator, like we did Frank, we could keep him going until the bacteria broke down on its own, since we couldn't isolate anything to use against it.

          "But we didn't have all the data on the deterioration rates.  Dr. McCabe got that after the agents had left," she told them.  "The bacteria had actually been breaking down for about twelve hours…"  She paused to take a breath, realizing that they weren't really following what she was saying, nor did they really care about the details.  "The organism was at the end of its life cycle," she summed up.  "The peak of the toxin build-up was just slightly ahead.  When the toxin peaked, and Vin stopped breathing, the organism had already finished breaking down, it had self-destructed.  Eventually Vin's own system caught up and the level of the toxin began to fall off, and that freed up his autonomic system, but the timing was such that he went into respiratory arrest and ventricular fibrillation."

          "So he was never really dead?" JD asked her.

          "I don't know.  Technically he'd stopped breathing and his heart had stopped pumping like it normally does when he arrived here."

          "That's dead in my book," JD supplied with a nervous laugh.

          "What now, Doctor?" Ezra asked, leaning forward.

          "We'll keep him on the respirator until he's a little stronger, and the levels of the toxin falls off more," she said, then looked nervously away.

          "What?" Nathan asked.

          She met his eyes.  "We don't know what the reaction is going to be to the decomposition of the toxin."

          "You mean he's still in danger?" Josiah questioned.

          Dr. Durant nodded.  "I'm sorry, but we're back to a wait-and-see.  I'm optimistic, but I can't make any promises.  If it helps, Frank is making good progress so far."

          The men nodded, but the grim expressions had returned.  She offered them a small, reassuring smile that had no effect, then left.

          "I better go find Buck and Chris," Nathan said quietly.

          Josiah shook his head.  "I don't think Chris needs to hear about this just yet."

          The former medic started to protest, but then he nodded, bowing to the profiler's better understanding of Larabee's psychological state.

          Ezra forced himself to his feet.  "I just want to state for the record that I am getting damn tired of waiting for good news without any strings attached."

          "Amen, brother, amen," Josiah replied.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Saturday, 0653 Hours**

          Larabee paced into Vin's room.  Checking his watch, he was surprised to find it was nearly seven o'clock.  He'd have to get some sleep, soon, or he was going to pass out where he stood.

          Shoving the hair off his forehead, Chris walked over to the window and pulled back the curtains to let the early morning light fill the room.  He cracked the pane open, allowing in the morning air as well.  Behind him, Vin lay quietly sleeping.

          A cold chill snaked down Larabee's back.  It had been nearly twenty hours since they had returned to the laboratory.  Vin had regained consciousness Friday afternoon, only to be assaulted with body-racking spasms as his system fought the toxins as they broke down.  Nothing they had tried had eased the man's suffering, and once he'd thought he'd lost Vin for a second time.  Finally they had taken him off the respirator when Vin was conscious enough to start to fight the thing.

          Chris closed his eyes, trying to push the images away, but they refused to budge.  He'd been sitting behind Vin, letting the younger man lean back against him and rest while he rubbed the sniper's tired and tense shoulder muscles.  They had tried to keep Tanner awake throughout the ordeal, afraid that if he slept they wouldn't be able to monitor the process closely enough to intervene if there was trouble.

          They had been talking about Vin's experience after he'd almost died the first time when he fell silent and slumped forward.  Chris' trembling fingers had missed the pulse still beating in his neck.  Dr. McCabe had found them twenty minutes later, Chris a complete wreck, sure that he'd really lost the man for good this time.  But it was only exhaustion that had forced Vin into a deep sleep and, together, they had managed to rouse him.

          Three hours later Dr. Durant had arrived to tell them that the toxins had dropped to a low enough level that they were no longer a threat.  Vin had smiled weakly, slipping immediately into sleep once more…

          The memories sent a surge of raw panic coursing through Larabee's already-frazzled nerves and he shook like a quake-rattled windowpane.  It had been so close.  So very, very close…

          But Vin had hung on, fighting the pain and the cramping muscles, refusing to give up even when Chris had reached the point where he _wanted_ Tanner to succumb – if simply to spare himself the continuing agony.

          They had all sat with the man, urging him not to give up, but, after several hours of it, Chris could no longer utter those words.  It wasn't fair.  Vin had suffered enough.  If death was his only escape, then he deserved it.  After all, he'd been so happy to see his mother…

          But how could he have wished the man dead?  Vin was his friend, his _best_ friend.

          Vin hadn't given up, but _he_ had…

          Guilt weighed heavily on Larabee's shoulders, and he forced himself back to the edge of the bed.

          A wild, incomprehensible maelstrom of emotions spiraled through the blond, increasing his anxiety.  He wanted to reach out and rest his hand on the man's lightly-rising and falling chest – to assure himself that what he was seeing was real – but, at the same time, he wanted to wring Tanner's neck for putting him through this ordeal.

          He wanted to stand inside the circle of Vin's arms and cry like a child, like he had when Sarah and Adam had been killed.  And he wanted to shove him away, as far away as possible, so he couldn't be hurt like that again.

          So many people in his life had died – his parents, Sarah, Adam – and he'd wished the same on Vin…  What kind of friend did that make him?

          With a whispered curse, Chris spun and fled the room.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Monday, 0747 Hours**

          "Mr. Tanner," Ezra said strictly, "the doctors said quite clearly that you have to eat if you want to get your strength back."

          Vin leveled his best no-nonsense glower, sure to stop anything short of a rampaging bull elephant, or an irate Chris Larabee, on the man.

          Standish folded his arms over his chest and tilted his head slightly to one side.  "You're _not_ eating, Mr. Tanner."

          Vowing to work on the glower until it included stubborn undercover agents, Vin eyed his tray.  On it, what he _hoped_ was oatmeal floated in a plastic bowl.  If it wasn't oatmeal, he'd have to file a complaint for illegal disposal of toxic waste, because it really looked like some experiment they might be working on, not food.

          Picking up his spoon, he poked tentatively at the substance.  "Uh…"

          "Oh, come now, it can't be _that_ bad.  I believe I had some of that… well, whatever it is, when I was in the hospital once, a long time ago."

          "Probably the same batch," Tanner muttered.  "They just kept sendin' it out t' different institutional cafeterias 'til someone's stupid enough t' actually eat it."

          The door swinging open spared the recovering man actually sampling the gruesome mixture.  "Larabee, where's m' pants?"

          "Don't you think you'd better tackle breakfast before you storm the nurses' station?" Chris asked him, the edge to his voice making the joke more pointed than was called for.

          "He's grouchy," Buck summed up, following the blond into the room.

          "I am _not_ grouchy," Larabee argued, realizing too late that he had sounded incredibly grouchy while doing so.

          "Oh, yes, you are," the ladies' man countered.

          "When am I gettin' out 'a here?" Vin asked the men.  "I feel fine now, and I'm gonna starve t' death if I'm stuck here much longer.  Where's Connor?"

          "Soon.  Glad to hear it.  I doubt that.  And I don't know," Buck rattled off, then grinned.

          Blue eyes narrowed and the sniper's lips disappeared into a thin line.

          "Try the toast, Mr. Tanner," Ezra suggested, sparing Wilmington's life.  "I believe it was Mr. Dunne who pointed out that, if you fold it in half, it springs back to its original shape… like rubber."

          "Great," Vin grumbled, while Buck moved in closer for a better view of the experiment.

          Vin glared up at the big man again.

          But Buck just grinned and said to Chris, "Hell, stud, he sure can give the ol' Larabee glare a run for its money, can't he?"

          "He's just being a goddamn stubborn fool," Larabee replied.  "The doctors said eat, so eat, goddamn it."

          Vin blinked and transferred his increasingly-annoyed glower to his boss.  "I will, when I c'n find some real food on my plate!"

          "Ah," Ezra said, his eyes closing, his expression like that of a man who had just sampled a fine wine.  "The sounds of normalcy at long last…"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Friday, May 28, 1010 Hours**

          "It's about time!" Vin enthused when Josiah entered his hospital room carrying a small gym bag.  "Those my clothes?" he asked hopefully.  He'd thought that his transfer from the lab to a regular hospital would mean that he'd be sent home soon, but that hadn't proven to be the case.

          "Yes, they are, but you're not going to need them just yet."

          "Damn it, J'siah, what more do they want?  I've been bled dry!  I'm fine.  I want t' go home."

          "This won't hurt a bit, Vin," he reassured the man as the door opened and a nurse entered, pushing a wheelchair.

          "I've heard that from everyone for three days now, J'siah, 'n' they've been wrong every damn time."

          "Agent Tanner, you are the worst patient I've ever had to deal with, and I've dealt with some real brutes!" the nurse said, pointing to the chair.  "Insert rump here – now."

          With all the dignity he could muster in the thin hospital gown, Vin took his seat.  "What is it this time?"

          "Last set of chest x-rays," the nurse supplied as she wheeled him out the door.  "Then a trip to neurology, and _then_ I'm hoping we finally get _rid_ of you."

          "Well… good," the sniper grouched, not sure if he should be hurt or not by her words.

          Josiah chuckled softly.  "Look at the bright side, brother," he said.

          "There is one?" Vin asked him.

          "You could have been sent back to DC to the NIH to recuperate with Frank Powell… have doctors Connor, Durant and McCabe hovering over you all this time…"

          Vin raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.  "All right, J'siah, y' made your point."  He flashed the man a grin as they headed for the elevators.  "Poor guy."

          Josiah nodded his agreement.

          Vin's expression turned more serious as they entered the elevator car and the nurse pressed the button that would take them to Radiology.  "Ain't seen Chris in a day 'r so…  He busy?"

          Josiah sighed softly, but not so softly that Tanner didn't hear it.  "He's… dealing with some issues of his own right now."

          Vin frowned.  "'Bout me?"

          Josiah nodded.  "It's not your fault, Vin, and it's nothing you've done…  He's just revisiting some old ghosts.  Give him a little time; he'll be all right."

          Vin nodded, but he slumped back in his wheelchair, worried nonetheless.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**A week later**

          "Vin, you resting?"

          Tanner winced slightly.  "Yeah, JD, I'm restin'."  He laid his pen aside and looked up from his paperwork.

          "Looks to me like you're working.  Chris says you should be resting.  You just got home."

          Vin contemplated what he might do if he heard the phrase 'Chris says' one more time, but he decided that everything he could come up with was a federal offense.

          "I'm just gettin' started on all this damn paperwork," he explained, waving his hand over the stack of file folders cluttering up one corner of Larabee's coffee table.

          JD crossed the room and slid into the leather recliner.  "Ever remind you of homework?"

          "Hell yes," Vin said, "and I hated that, too."

          "Homework's work," JD pronounced.  "You better wait 'til tomorrow… at least."

          Fighting back a smile, he decided to humor the request.  "I guess it can't hurt t' let this sit for another day… or two."

          "Cool, we can watch _Total Recall_ on HBO!"

          Vin nodded his agreement.  "Now, _that_ sounds more like restin' than paperwork does."

          "Yep."  JD bounced out of the recliner.  "You want some breakfast?  Josiah's in there making his flapjacks."

          "Sure," Vin replied, watching the younger man leave the room.  He'd been out from the hospital for a week, each day spent out at the ranch, and he was chafing to return to his regular routine, even if no one else was ready to let him do it.

          He was _fine_.

          Dr. Chandler had pronounced him bacteria- and toxin-free.  Oh sure, he was still a little sore and achy, but that was fading, and his strength was almost back to… well, something starting to approach normal.  It would have _been_ normal if he could just get back to his regular runs and exercise.  But every time he tried to do anything that was… well, _normal_ , one of the others would appear to distract him, or con him into waiting, or tell him he couldn't, shouldn't, or wouldn't want to do it…  Well, enough was enough!

          He was _fine_ , and it was high time he got on with his life.  It wasn't going to wait for him forever after all.

          With a deep breath, he pushed himself up and left the living room, heading for the kitchen, and breakfast.  Even his appetite had returned, which was no small feat after all the lab and hospital swill he'd been forced to endure.

          He was _fine_ , and it was time the others stopped treating him like he was still an invalid.

          Now, all he had to do was convince _them_ of that…

          "Morning, Vin," Josiah greeted as he entered and took a seat at the breakfast bar.

          "Mornin'," he replied, noting Larabee's absence.  "Anythin' going on?"

          "Nada," Buck said with a smile.  "We're still all on vacation for another two days."

          Vin nodded.  "Good, that'll give me two days t' get back into a routine."  He waited for someone to voice an objection, but there were none.  "That's not a problem?"

          "Should it be?" Josiah asked him.

          Tanner's eyes narrowed slightly.  "For the last week y'all 've been watchin' me like I was an only-chick.  I was expectin' some kind of objection, yeah."

          Buck shrugged.  "Nathan figured a week was enough rest.  A week's up today.  You're free."

          "Why didn't anyone tell _me_ this?" Vin demanded.

          "What, and ruin all our fun?" Buck asked him, then added sincerely, "Welcome back, Junior."

          JD grinned at Vin from across the space.  "So, does that mean you'd rather go horseback riding?"

          "You bet," Vin said with a smile.  "Excellent way t' start the day, in my opinion."

          " _After_ you have some breakfast," Josiah said, transferring three of the large golden-brown discs onto a plate which he slid in front of Vin.

          Tanner grinned down at the pancakes.  "Of course," he said, reaching for the butter and the syrup, slathering on the first and drowning the stack in the later before digging in.

          Buck and Josiah exchanged grins, JD just rolling his eyes.  "It's a good thing Nathan isn't here to see that!" he added.

          "Where is everybody else?" Vin asked.

          "Nathan's out helping Chris feed the horses," Buck told him.  "And Ezra's…  Well, he's wherever he is."

          "Said he was 'tracking down some loose threads,' whatever the hell that means," JD supplied.  "Said he'd be back for lunch, and insisted that it be something other than barbecue."

          "Heathen," Buck replied, shaking his head.

          Vin nodded, his mouth too full to speak.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Monday, June 14, 0803 Hours**

          He heard them outside the door, talking and laughing as they entered the office.  "'Bout time," he called.

          They came to stumbling halts, their eyebrows climbing.  Josiah, Nathan, Buck, JD and Ezra all glanced around at their office space, taking in the abundant party decorations that covered the walls, desks, windows and whatever other surface would be put to use.  A handmade banner that hung from the ceiling read "I'm Back!"

          "You're late," Vin told them, settling back in his chair and grinning at their confused, dazed looks.

          "Uh, Vin," JD said, "aren't you still on sick-leave?"

          Vin's grin broadened into a genuine smile.  "Nope.  Dr. Chandler gave me the 'you're all better now' speech on Friday, so I'm officially back as of today."

          "I see," was Nathan's cool reply.  Taking a deep breath, and hoping he could keep a straight face, he stalked over to Tanner and peered down at him.  It didn't take long for Vin's expression to falter slightly under the former medic's intense scrutiny.  A moment later a smile broke out on Jackson's face.  "Good to have you back, Vin," he said, reaching out and slapping the sniper on the back.  "You're looking good – damn good."

          The others all laughed at Tanner's relieved expression and headed to their desks, most of them still gawking at the decorations as they went.

          "What's all this for?" Buck asked, waving his hands at the riot of color and designs.  "You do realize that _we're_ supposed to throw _you_ a welcome back party, right?"

          "Well, that might be true, but I figured I'd throw you guys a party, too," Vin said, blue eyes alight with warmth and friendship.  "T' say thank you, for all y' done for me…  Don't think I would've made it through that mess if it hadn't been for you guys."  The grin returned as the five men blushed at the compliment.

          "Still," Ezra said, schooling his expression into one of his best haughty, condescending looks, "this is a terrible breach of protocol, Mr. Tanner, simply dreadful.  I'm afraid we're going to have to _insist_ that you take this all down and allow us to enact our rightful roles of celebrators upon the conclusion of this most unfortunate recent drama."

          They watched as Vin's eyes widened slightly as he tried to quickly translate the man's words.

          "Well," Tanner said and cleared his throat, "reckon if y'all feel that way, I could take it down…"

          "We did have some pretty audacious plans," Josiah agreed, looking at Ezra.  But his eyes were twinkling.

          "Y' did?"

          "Oh, yeah," Buck jumped in.  "Food, cake… belly-dancing girls…"

          "Belly-dancing girls?" JD echoed.  "Since when?"

          The ladies' man rolled his eyes and Vin fought back a smile.

          "Wow… well then, reckon I'll just have t' let y' rock the house… another day," he concluded, watching the men's lips twitching into smiles.  "'Cause I've already got us reservations at Chops for tonight, and I picked up one of them extra special cakes from Celestial Bake—"

          "Oh my God," Josiah gasped.  "Don't tell me… the white cake one with fruit filling and the butter rum frosting?"

          "The very same," Vin replied, nodding.  "Only the best… for the best bunch of friends, no, _brothers_ , a guy could ever hope to find."

          "Well, then, Mr. Tanner," Ezra said, his eyes a little bright, "we might be willing to forgive your faux pau after all."

          "You bet we are," Nathan added, the others nodding.

          "Glad to hear it," Vin replied, looking and sounding more than a little smug.  "And where's Larabee?"

          Buck frowned.  "He's not here?  He didn't help you put all this stuff up?"

          Tanner shook his head.  "Expected he'd turn up with the rest of ya."

          "He wasn't at breakfast, either," Nathan offered.  "We thought he was running late—"

          "Because of me," Vin finished for him, frowning now as well.  "He helped me get all my shit back home on Saturday, but I didn't hear from him Sunday."

          "I'll give him a call," Buck said, starting to reach for his cell phone.

          "What in the hell is this crap?"

          The six men looked to find Larabee stalking into the office.  The blond was frowning as he took in the decorations.  He stopped for a moment, then just shook his head and headed into his office, closing the door behind him.

          "Something happen between you two?" Buck asked the sniper.

          "Not that I knew of," Vin replied, still staring at the closed door to Chris' office.

          "Yes, well, whatever Mr. Larabee's issues might be," Ezra said, "I, for one, am just glad that we, once again, have beaten the odds."  He grinned at Vin adding, "I always knew that you were simply too stubborn to die, Mr. Tanner."

          The men laughed and slowly began to actually turn their attention to their work.

          "Chops, huh?" JD called.  "That's gonna cost you a month's pay."

          "It'll be worth it," Vin said sincerely, but he was still worried about what was happening with Chris.  Had he done or said something to upset the man?  He couldn't remember anything, but…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Thursday, June 18, 1202 Hours**

          Vin stepped off the path and stretched.  It was a beautiful, clear morning, perfect for a run in the park – his preferred way of spending lunch.  God but it felt good to be back at work, back to "normal," or whatever passed for it.

          "Tanner?"

          Vin glanced over his shoulder and smiled when he saw Chris walking up to join him.  "Hey, y' finally gonna run with me?" he asked, beginning his warm-up exercises.

          "What the hell are you doing?"

          The sniper frowned.  "Gettin' ready for my run, just like normal."

          "But you just got out of the hospital."

          Vin glanced over at the blond, sensing something was wrong, but finding no clue in the man's closed expression.  Chris had been distant ever since he'd… lived.  At first Vin had chalked it up to the aftermath of a good scare, but it wasn't getting any better.  "It's been almost three weeks, Chris.  Dr. Chandler said I was fine, that I should go back t' all my normal routines weeks ago, remember?"

          "I'm sure he didn't mean you should be out here running a damned marathon," Larabee snapped.

          Vin felt himself bristle and forced himself to take a deep breath before he replied.  "I'm not runnin' a marathon, Chris.  I'm just taking a little run around the park."

          "You're not Superman, you know."

          "Yeah," Vin said, more confused than ever, "I know."

          "Then why the hell do you always act like you are?" Chris demanded.

          "That's out 'a line, Larabee," Vin snapped, his own anger finally bubbling to the surface.  He knew if he wasn't careful, he was going to say something he'd regret, but that _was_ out of line.  He hadn't been doing a damn thing out of the ordinary.  He was just doing what he usually did.

          "No, _you're_ out of line," was the reply.  "Why can't you just admit you're human, like the rest of us?"

          "Just a goddamned minute—"  But before he could get started, Larabee turned and stalked away.

          _What the hell was that?_ Vin wondered, watching Chris getting farther away.  He didn't know, but he _did_ know he had to find out, and soon, before the friendship he and Chris had shared for so long was destroyed.  And he wasn't about to let that happen.

          He sighed, knowing he wouldn't be running today.  Instead he started after Larabee, picking up speed until he finally caught up with the man.  "Hey, Chris, hold on."

          The blond stopped and Vin heard him sigh heavily.  Chris' shoulders also sagged as he turned to face him.  "What?" he snapped.

          "Something goin' on y' want t' talk about?" he asked the older man.

          Chris shook his head, but said at the same time, "Look— It's not your problem, Vin.  It's mine."

          "Seems like you've made it mine, too."

          Larabee nodded, his jaw muscle jumping with frustration.

          Vin glanced around at the park, relatively quiet for the time of day.  "Y' want t' take a walk?" he asked, knowing the jogging trail would give them some privacy.

          It was clear from the look on the man's face he didn't want to, but Chris sighed again and nodded, obviously resigned to his fate.

          The first several minutes passed in silence, but then Chris said softly, "Just having a hard time facing the fact that… that I… that it hurt…  Hell, I don't know what the hell I'm trying to say here."

          "That y' found out your heart isn't as dead as you thought it was?" Vin asked quietly.

          Larabee's eyes rounded.  "Yeah…  I guess that's close enough."

          Vin offered him a small smile.  "Hell, Chris, any time y' think you're going t' lose something that means something t' ya, it hurts…  But I've gotta tell y'…  Having somebody who'll stick it out with ya, t' the last breath…  That's a gift, a treasure nobody can put a price on…  If it'd been you…"  He shook his head.  "Reckon I would've felt what you're feelin'…  But it wasn't you."  He looked over at the man, his eyes full of hope and sympathy and sadness.  "Y' can live dead, or y' can live life…  It ain't easy, but y' know I think it's worth it."

          That brought a small smile to Chris' lips, too.  "Sometimes I think it is, too.  Other times…"  He shook his head.  "It hurts, Vin…  Too much, maybe…"

          "But isn't the alternative worse?" 

          Larabee had to nod after a few moments passed.  "Yeah… I guess so."

          They walked on in silence for a while, then Larabee asked, "How the hell did you get so wise anyway?"

          Vin flashed him a grin.  "Hell if I know."

          "I do."

          Vin looked at him, waiting for him to continue, but Chris changed the topic.  "Guess I've been acting like a damn fool, haven't I?"

          Vin nodded.  "Reckon y' have…  Well, a pain in the ass, anyway."

          "Fuck you, Tanner."

          "Not in this life," the man replied with a snort.

          Larabee shook his head.  Then stopped and rested his hands on his hips.  "You know, only _you_ could find the one place in Purgatory an escaped, plague-infected rodent would go to die."

          "How the hell was I supposed to know it'd get caught in Pop's new air conditioning unit?"

          Chris started walking again, this time heading them back toward their building.  "I'm just saying you're a freakin' trouble magnet."

          "I am not."

          "The hell you aren't."

          "Hey, anybody could've been there at the wrong time.  It was just… poor timing."

          "Trouble magnet."

          Tanner rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.  It wasn't over, but at least he knew Chris was trying to put it behind him.  And any friend who'd ride the river with you to the last breath was worth waiting for, worth helping.  And he knew he'd do whatever it took… to his last breath.


End file.
